


Into The Woods

by Redbone135



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 67,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbone135/pseuds/Redbone135
Summary: A high school AU that centers around Neal Cassidy and Emma Swan getting lead roles in the school's production of Into the Woods. Lots of swanfire relationship drama, with a large dose of Gold family drama added in as well. Each chapter is based around a different song from the soundtrack of the play.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan
Comments: 184
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter One: Into The Woods

_ “ _ _ Into the woods, without delay, but careful not to lose the way. Into the woods, who knows what may be lurking on the journey? Into the woods to get the thing that makes it worth the journeying.” _

**Chapter One: Into The Woods**

Neal’s favorite part about his dad’s house was that the couch faced away from the front door. It made slipping in and out unnoticed incredibly easy. Sometimes he would drop his keys or trip over his feet, just for a challenge. It didn’t matter though: once Rumple started reading his paper Neal might as well have been invisible. 

That sounded almost resentful, no, Neal wasn’t resentful. He was glad, because invisible was all he wanted to be in this stupid, sleepy town. Because invisible was the next best thing to gone.

And today - today in particular - he was focused on not being noticed. He hung his backpack up in the front hall, slipping out of his boots to tiptoe through the living room in his sock feet, hoping to make it to the back bedroom they’d shoved him in without so much as a nod hello. Certainly without any questions. Please, just don’t turn around...

“Bae!” He heard Belle scream from the kitchen, freezing him in his tracks. “You’re home! Dinner will be ready in a second!”

“Hello, son,” his father mumbled, his face still buried in the paper, Neal letting himself relax a bit as he let out the breath he was holding in, a frustrated shrug of his shoulders as he turned back to the little hallway that led to his room. “You’ll be joining us for dinner.”

Not a question, but Neal chose to take it as one.

“I must decline, father, I think I’ll be taking my supper in my private quarters tonight.”

“Don’t be a smartass, go wash up for dinner.”

How dirty did his dad think he was?

Still, he made a point of stopping in the guest bathroom - no, his bathroom - and running some water over his hands, raking his fingers through his uncontrollable curls a couple times before rushing into his room and typing a quick message to his friends Felix and Peter. 

“Dinner with pops and the VPHSM. Start without me.”

Peter wrote back: “Give mommy and daddy a kiss for me. Especially hot stepmom - are we adding VP for ‘very pregnant’ now or did she just get elected Vice President?”

Felix replied: “We always start without you, idiot.” 

By the time he made it back to the kitchen his father and Belle were already seated around the table, digging into a meal of salad and spaghetti. One piece of garlic bread sitting on his plate. Because he mentioned one time that he liked it. One time! And now Belle made a special point of making a piece just for him with every pasta dish. It was the kind of incredibly thoughtful thing that Belle always did, and Neal hated it. 

“Bae, honey, help yourself,” she offered as he sunk into his chair.

Because she could remember that he liked garlic bread, but she couldn't remember that his name was NEAL!

He mumbled a half-hearted 'thank you' as he piled food onto his own plate, hoping if he put enough of it in his mouth at one time no one would ask him any questions. Maybe they would just talk around him and he wouldn’t need to worry

“Belle bought you all those nice school clothes. You don’t want to wear them?” his father spoke up, without taking his eyes off his plate. When Neal was in the room everything was always ten times more interesting than Neal. A Newspaper. His dinner. A glass of whiskey. The ever growing baby bump that was destined to be his Take Two at a better son.

Gideon. Ugh. Neal wondered what name the kid would pick out for himself once he was old enough to realize how stupid his real one was.

“Yeah, I’m not really a vest guy,” Neal tried to articulate through a mouth full of food, gesturing to his worn hoodie. It was full of holes. He liked it that way. 

“You know, Rumple, Baelfire had a big day at school today,” Belle spoke up, making up for his dad’s lack of eye contact with entirely too much eye contact. Like, aggressively too much eye contact. ”He’s got some news to share.”

“It’s Neal, actually,” Neal corrected for the millionth time at the same time his father sat down his fork and faked a smile in his direction.

“What’s your news, son?”

“I’ve decided to drop out and deal drugs.”

Belle’s light laughter pulled a smirk to his face, even though he could see storm clouds brewing over his father’s head. 

“No. About the play?” she prodded.

“I’m going to be in the school play,” Neal offered, hoping against hopes that this might be considered a good thing and then, maybe, after one positive moment at dinner, they could go back to eating in silence. “Yeah. It’s called Into the Woods. I’m gonna be the lead.”

“So, what’s your character? Lovable rogue hero? Infuriating anti-hero?”

Neal could never tell when his dad was being sincere or making fun of him. He always tended to lean towards the latter in his assumptions though, just to be on the safe side.

“He’s a baker. No, it’s just a play. I didn’t even want the part but Belle needed another baritone and-”

His dad nodded, looking back down at his plate. “Baker. Sounds fun.”

“You know most people would say congratulations, pops. Lead in a play, that’s kind of a big deal.”

“Yes, that would be a big deal to most people. It would be a very big deal, if you _actually_ wanted the part and had _actually_ auditioned for it. But you don’t. And you didn't. So...” his father trailed off with a shrug and that infuriating little hand twirl that made Neal always want to choke.

“What do you want from me, pops?”

“I just wish-”

“Wish? I wish a lot of things!”

“Don’t fight!” Belle rushed in to save the day.

“I mean why did you even take the role if you don’t want it?” his father demanded. “You’re just wasting Belle’s time!”

“Well, I’d hate to do that. Wouldn't want to waste precious Belle’s time!” Neal snapped, before turning to his step mom and whispering a quick apology. “Sorry, Belle, it really was nice of you to include me.”

Without another word he grabbed his plate, hurrying it back to his room to finish his meal in peace. 

Why had he taken the role?

Because he’d made a promise.

He’d promised to try. He’d promised to put on his best smile - and it was a damn good smile, too - and try to fit in and make friends and not mope. He was also pretty good at moping.

Looking into the mirror above his dresser he tried to imagine himself somewhere else. Like on a sailboat. Or riding shotgun in Felix's pickup truck. Or in his trailer back home. He had hated to leave; but he had had to go.

With a heavy sigh he picked up his cellphone, dialing the number that he knew by heart.

She probably didn’t have any cell service where she was. It didn’t surprise him when it went straight to voicemail. 

“Hey, I just wanted to call and let you know I was thinking about you,” he said into the phone, trying his best to sound cheerful, hoping she could hear his smile over the phone.

That was weird, was it too late to hang up and start over?

He made his way over to the bed, flopping down face first before continuing into the phone.

“I hope you’re having fun, wherever you are. Maybe send me a postcard? You know, if there’s time. Don't worry about it if there isn’t.”

Rolling over on his back he thought for a moment. What else did he want to say? 

“So… Belle’s new craving is greens. Like anything green. Lettuce, asparagus, celery. I just thought you’d like to hear that… cause we always used to joke that she was too perfect to be real, and that felt pretty made up to me. Oh, and she calls arugula ‘rocket’! Who does that?”

He laughed awkwardly, staring up at the stars he had painted on the ceiling of his new bedroom. He had done it in part to piss off his dad, but so far Rumple hadn’t set foot in his room long enough to notice. He tried to guess what stars she would be staring at tonight. He was pretty sure Virgo was visible from Florida right now. And maybe you could see Scorpius over Cape Hope. Or was that backwards? They had always liked looking at the stars together. 

“Oh, and I’m going to be in the school play. Yeah. The lead! So, that’s kind of a big deal. Pop says it’s a big deal, anyways. So yeah. Just give me a call back and we’ll call it square okay? I want to hear from you. I know you think I’m mad, but I’m not. Unless you don't call me back. Then I’ll be mad.”

He sighed. He’d never had much of a way with words. How was he ever going to be in this play? People were definitely going to laugh at him.

“Anyways. I just wanted to say I love you.”

And then, as if disappointed no one had picked up by now, he whispered, “I wish… I wish you were here. Bye, mom.”


	2. Chapter Two: Cinderella at the Grave

_ “I've been good and I've been kind, Mother, doing only what I learned from you. Why, then, am I left behind, Mother? Is there something more that I should do?” _

**Chapter Two: Cinderella at the Grave**

Emma sat the bouquet of flowers down on the grave, breathing deeply as she tried to find the words to say. You’d think talking to Ingrid would be easier now that it didn’t just devolve into arguments, but she still found herself at a loss for the right words to tell the closest thing she’d ever had to a mother just how much she had appreciated her while it lasted.

While it lasted? What a morbid thought!

Casting a nervous look over her shoulder at Mary Margaret, waiting by the car with a squirming Henry on her hip, Emma summoned up the courage she needed to whisper, “Thanks again for an awesome thirteen years.”

Thanks again. That was the best she could do.

Oh well, maybe next week.

“So, how’s you mom?” Mary Margaret asked in that annoyingly chipper, yet incredibly endearing, way of hers. 

“Still dead,” Emma said with as much lightheartedness as she could muster as she wrestled Henry back out of her foster sister’s arms and brushed his hair back from his forehead for a kiss. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Mary Margaret chuckled, oblivious to just how much Emma did not want to talk about this. “I mean did you feel anything? Was she happy to see you? Did you tell her about the play?”

Emma rolled her eyes. Her foster sister, ever the optimist, was a big believer that you didn’t lose someone just because they died. That they still hung around, loving you and supporting you, watching you grow with a happy heart. 

Emma really wanted to believe that, she really did, but it just sounded so crazy. Ingrid had not been there for a while, and if she was still watching over Emma, well, she was doing a bad job wasn’t she?

“Why would I tell her about the play?” Emma asked. “My dead mom doesn’t want to hear about a high school play. She’s got bigger things to worry about, like which necklace matches her angel wings. Or if she’s going to play bridge with Mother Teresa tomorrow night.”

“Very funny,” Mary Margaret chuckled, “But I think she’d want to hear. You’re playing the lead after all! Cinderella!”

Emma rolled her eyes again as she opened the back door to the Bug, strapping Henry into his car seat as her foster sister sat in the front, playing with the radio. Oh, God. Now Emma was going to have to listen to her cheery pop music the whole ride home. 

Emma and Mary Margaret were two very different people.

Emma liked 80s new wave and Mary Margaret loved top 40 anything. 

Emma wore a leather jacket and combat boots everywhere she went, Mary Margaret wore cardigans and lace.

Her sister looked so much like Snow White with her perfect complexion and adorable pixie cut that everyone around Storybrooke had taken to calling her Snow. And treating her like a princess too: she was teen royalty. But not in that shitty way that popular girls were always portrayed on TV, no, in the real genuine way where everyone just really liked her. Everyone knew her name, swapped stories at lunch, and invited her to their parties because she was a genuine treat to be around.

And Emma, well, Emma wasn’t.

In fact, the only thing Emma had in common with Cinderella was that they both had dead moms, and that felt like a really dark connection to draw upon for a high school play. 

It was why she had been so shocked when Mrs. Gold had read the casting list: Snow was supposed to be the princess. Beautiful, perfect, popular Snow. 

Yeah, she had been really shocked until she learned Cinderella wasn’t actually the lead. The Baker’s Wife was. And guess who had gotten that role?

“My sister, the star of the show,” Snow chirped from the front seat as Emma handed Henry another toy he was only going to throw onto the floor the moment she started driving. 

“Except not really,” Emma added, “You’re the real star. I mean the Baker’s Wife has all the good songs.”

“I’m sorry,” Snow said, because of course she was, “I didn’t know you wanted that part. You should have said something to Mrs. Gold - she totally would have swapped us. She’s really understanding that way.”

Mrs. Gold, another woman who Emma thought was just too good to be true. Fresh out of college, she was amazingly chipper and kind. All of her students loved her, all of the other teachers raved about her doing so well this first year, the woman could do no wrong. And yesterday, Emma had watched her, at seven months pregnant, perform a pirouette without even messing up her hair. Who does that?

“I didn’t want the part,” Emma assured her foster sister, getting into the driver side of the Bug and starting the car. “I’m just here to support you. Like always.”

“I know you probably didn’t mean for that to sound so resentful-”

“Oh, no, I definitely did,” Emma laughed, punching her foster sister in the arm. “No, I’m kidding Snow, I love being your sidekick. There is no one else whose sidekick I would rather be.”

And it was true enough. 

The Blanchards had been really good to her. They had taken her in when foster care was going to pull her away from Storybrooke. They had let her and Henry stay together, which was a miracle. If she believed in those, it would have been, anyway. They treated her just like one of their own, and never for one second did anyone object to her surly mood swings, or her weekly trip to visit Ingrid, or the screaming toddler that got on even her nerves sometimes. 

“You want to stop for ice cream on the way home?” Mary Margaret asked, looking out the window as Emma drove down Main Street. David and Kathryn were sitting outside Any Given Sundae, enjoying a banana split in that adorable way that couples did, feeding each other spoonfuls in between giggles and sprinkles. Gross.

“No, ice cream makes me think of Ingrid,” Emma offered. It was a lie. But she really didn’t think Mary Margaret needed to be anywhere near David. Take it from her, teenage boys were just bad news. 

As if on cue, Henry wailed, throwing his stuffed bear out the window of the car and forcing Emma to pump the breaks, looking for the nearest parking space. 

“Henry wants ice cream,” Snow said with a devilish grin, out of the car and unbuckling the baby before Emma could protest.

As Snow scurried ahead to the shop Emma bent down to pick up the little stuffed toy from the road, shoving it into the pocket of her leather coat. 

She really had tried being nice.

She had tried being kind.

It hadn’t gotten her very far.

She followed into the little shop, finding her sister at the back, pointing out bright colors and interesting flavors while Henry sucked on a sample spoon.

“Let’s go,” she said, tugging on her sister’s arm forcefully. Snow ignored her, continuing to point out different things to a transfixed Henry. Too late now, the server was already here to take Snow’s order. What more could she do?

“Please don’t give him ice cream,” Emma begged as Snow paid for her rainbow confection and a simple scoop of chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon on top for Emma.

“Let’s eat these outside.”

“Let’s not.”

But just like always, it was Snow's way or being left behind. 

Just like the damn play: try out with Snow, or spend everyday after school with no one but Henry for company. The Blanchards had even agreed to pay for a nanny so that she could stay the extra two hours needed for play practice, and so, instead of being left alone she had auditioned, expecting only rejection.

To be told that she would be an absolutely perfect Cinderella.

Who knew?

With a sigh she sunk down into the empty seat across from Mary Margaret, who had happened to seat herself only one table away from David and Kathryn, offering a coy little wave when David looked over.

“This is not a good idea,” Emma reiterated.

Snow ignored her, continuing to beam at the happy couple in a way that could only be described as creepily intense. 

“Do you even know what you want?” Emma reiterated, tugging on her foster sister’s hand long enough to drag her attention away. 

“I wish… I wish he would talk to me again,” Snow sighed.

“Are you sure what you  _ wish _ is what you  _ want _ ?” Emma asked. “I mean he could start talking to you again tomorrow. That doesn’t solve the girlfriend situation.”

“I know,” Snow pouted, sticking another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “I just wish-”

“Listen, I used to wish my Prince Charming would show up one day too. But trust me, I’ve learned the hard way, wishing and wanting just lead to disappointment. So eat your ice cream and then let’s go home. If you're so desperate to make googly eyes at some guy, call Victor. I’m sure he’ll go out with you.”

Tears bubbled up in Snow’s eyes, Henry stopping his happy playing to look up and mirror her muffled sniffles, a meltdown about to ensue.

Great, now there were two crying babies, Emma thought.

What was wrong with her? Something must be wrong with her.

“I’m sorry, Snow, sorry. I get it, you used to be good friends and now it sucks that you’re not. But I really think you’re just making a bad situation worse. You’ll see, the play will help. The more time you spend away from him the better you’ll feel.”

Was it true? Honestly, hell if Emma knew. But it had calmed Mary Margaret, and tangentially Henry, down well enough, and right now that was all Emma could really care about: her sister and her son. 

Because what Emma _wished_ and what Emma _wanted_ were the same thing: To not be left behind by either. 


	3. Chapter Three: Hello, Little Girl

_“Mother said,’Come what may, follow the path and never stray.’”_

_“Just so, little girl- Any path? So many worth exploring. Just one would be so boring.”_

**Chapter Three: Hello, Little Girl**

It was entirely too early to be awake on a Saturday. 

When Belle had first come knocking at his door, at seven am on the dot, he had thought she was kidding. She had to be kidding, right?

He had opened the door to see her dressed to the nines, as always, in one of those cute little blue dresses with the bow around the high neckline and long sleeves for modesty, all undermined by a hemline that kind of defeated the purpose. Neal hadn’t complained when he’d first met her, in fact, if he remembered correctly, it had been him who had first started referring to her as ‘hot stepmom’ in front of his friends, but now that she was seven months pregnant with his dad’s second spawn, maybe Neal wished her skirts could be a little longer.

“You haven't showered yet?” she asked incredulously as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, blocking the doorway so she couldn’t see the empty soda cans and candy wrappers strewn across his computer desk from a late night of playing League with his friends. Let’s see, if it was seven now, that meant he’d had exactly… three-ish hours of sleep?

Why would he have showered? It was Saturday. 

“Bae, I have to pick up the scripts from the printer before practice this morning and I wanted to stop and get doughnuts for all the actors. And I am not going to be late because my stepson doesn’t own an alarm clock,” she said, tugging him out of his room and all but shoving him into the bathroom next door.

Oh, right, play practice. “Yeah, I’m probably not going to make it to that today.”

She wrinkled her nose, that cute little angry face that she reserved for misbehaving students and when he and his dad fought, and with a voice full of steel said, “Yes, you will.”

“I’m just going to take a day off, okay?”

“Lead actors do not get a ‘day off’. You have half an hour,” she warned before slamming the bathroom door on him. He didn’t have any clothes with him, or any of the other things he needed to get ready, but okay, sure, half an hour.

And that’s how Neal had ended up in the back of the auditorium, in the scratchy, nice coat Belle had gotten for him, with his mother’s favorite scarf wrapped around his neck, munching on his third doughnut of the morning as he watched Belle greet every single student that walked through the door.

“Good day, young lady,” she would offer to the girls.

“Good morning Mrs. Gold,” they would smile back. 

“Good day, young man,” she would offer to the boys.

“Hello, Mrs. Gold,” they would offer back.

Each taking a script and a doughnut off the table on stage as they filed in and took their seats near the front of the auditorium, with a few notable exceptions. 

Two girls, one a redhead with stunning green eyes and the other an African American girl with a look that said she lacked patience, sat one row in front of him, combing through their scripts instead of talking to each other. 

A male student, with a mop of blonde curls and a leather coat Neal was quite envious of, sat over by the emergency exit, his script forgotten next to him, typing away on a tablet in his lap. 

“Good morning actors!” He heard Belle call from the front. Neal was surprised to hear a cacophony of enthusiastic shouts back. He was new to public school, but weren’t the kids always supposed to be just a little unenthused and a tad resentful towards their teachers?

“Does everyone have their scripts?” she asked, met with another chorus of joyous “Yes Ma’am!”s. 

Neal did not have his script, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it. 

He listened to Belle ramble on some more, clearly nervous though no one else seemed to notice, before finally announcing they would be spending this first morning doing Neal’s absolute least favorite thing: icebreakers. He had hoped that by coming in so late in the quarter he would have missed all that “getting to know you” crap. He didn’t really want to know anyone in this town that was not his home, and he sure as hell didn’t want them to know him. What was it going to be this time, The Name Game? My Name is Neal and I’m … Nervous? Negative? Naughty… yeah, that wouldn’t get him in trouble with Belle, and by extension his dad.

“I want everyone to stand up, tell us your name, the character you’ll be playing, and one thing you have in common with them,” Belle chirped, “Who wants to go first?”

Neal listened to a couple kids, overly enthusiastic, explain why they were just like Jack or The Witch or Cinderella’s Stepmom. All while Neal panicked because he hadn't actually read anything about this play and his script was still sitting on the table all the way across the auditorium. Hi, my name is Neal and I… uh… like to bake? Great first impression. Spot on. Not only a lie, but an awkward one at that. 

It took a couple more kids before Belle had to start calling on people less eager to volunteer.

“Hi, my name is Ruby. I’ll be playing Little Red, and we will both cut a bitch.”

“Hey everyone, my name is Emma, I’m Snow’s sister. Foster sister. I’ll be playing Cinderella and I guess we both have the whole lost thing going for us. Sorry, that was probably really depressing. What I mean is, her whole arc is about realizing how sometimes being alone isn’t a bad thing and that’s something I’ve also worked really hard on. Sorry.”

Well, hello little girl, Neal thought.

Except he didn’t think it.

He said it out-loud, quietly enough that only he and the two girls in front of him heard, but still loud enough to be awkward.

“That was really creepy,” The redhead in front of him said, turning to glare at him with those piercing green eyes.

“I know. I heard it. As I was saying it,” Neal mumbled while both girls giggled.

“Bae, how about you?” Belle called from the front. “Your turn?”

There was no use arguing with Belle over this, he had learned that much about his stepmom by now, and so he stood with a grimace and tried to project to the front. “Hey, I’m Neal, and I’m The Baker-”

“I didn’t see him at auditions!” called a jackass from the front, some douche with way too much jewelry for a man. 

“Bae auditioned privately,” Belle said, gesturing for Neal to continue. She had to know how that sounded right? I mean she was calling him Bae… this was a group of high school kids… great, that’s just what he wanted people to think. 

“Yeah, so I’m playing the Baker,” he continued, “But I’m going to be honest, I have no clue what we have in common.”

“You can’t think of one thing?” Belle prodded. 

Neal shook his head no. 

“Not one little thing?”

Another no, firmer this time because it wasn’t like something was just going to pop into his head the more she bothered him about it. 

“What about: you love your family?” A girl with a black pixie cut from the front called, probably trying to be helpful. “Maybe that’s something you’ve got in common, Bae.”

Great.

“Yeah, Bae, or maybe you’re both really stubborn?” the girl with long black hair in front of him offered.

“Or that you’re both kind of idiots?” The douche with the earring leered. Before adding, definitely intentionally, “Bae.”

“What’s your relationship with your dad like?” someone else catcalled

“What about: neither one of you is prepared, but you’re willing to try anyway?” offered the blonde who had called herself Emma. “The Baker is not ready for anything that happens to him in the play, but he faces it with determination and dignity, and eventually prevails as an unexpected hero.”

Neal smiled. That one. He liked that one. He agreed with her, probably turning ten shades of stupid, before sitting back down quickly enough. 

They stumbled through the rest of the introductions, finishing up by forming a circle on stage to read through a couple lines from the opening scene together - just to get a feel for their characters or something stupid like that.

“Bae, where is your script?” Belle asked.

“I didn’t see one for me on the table,” he said with a shrug, “Maybe my name wasn’t on the list.”

He watched as her eyes, and everyone else's, traveled to the one lone script left on the table as Belle made her way over, picking it up and pointing to the top.

“Baelfire Gold,” she read, trying hard to keep the frustration out of her voice.

“That’s not my name,” he grinned, watching her pick up a sharpie and scribble out Baelfire to replace it with NEAL.

He decided to push his luck. “My last name’s Cassidy.”

With a huff she continued to scribble, shoving the script into his hands with a hushed whisper, “Not on your birth certificate, it’s not.”

After practice Neal caught up to Emma on her way out the door with a couple of the other girls. 

“Hey,” he called watching them all turn to stare and wishing he had thought of something clever to say before just jumping into this conversation. “Thank you. I liked what you said earlier. It was deep.”

Deep? He was an idiot.

The girls chuckled, breaking away from the two of them to continue their walk. Emma stared longingly after them.

“Would you want to grab a coffee with me?” Neal spit out quickly. “I’ve got to confess, I haven't read any of this play and I could really use someone like you to walk me through it.”

“Sorry,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve got to get home.”

“What’s your rush?”

She looked up, glaring at him full force. “Why’s that your business? I said no.”

He shrugged, watching her turn to stalk away. 

No, he had promised to try. He had promised to smile and make friends. And maybe, maybe if he could keep his promise, his mom would call back.

He jogged to catch up to her. “Hey, sorry, I wasn’t hitting on you” -he had been- “I just wanted to chat. Can I walk you home?”

She eyed him skeptically. “I’m not joking. And I don’t like liars.”

Well, he definitely didn’t have a shot then. 

“What about misleaders? Sorry. Not hitting on you” - he was- “Just walking you home. Slow down, you’ll miss all the good things in life if you keep walking a mile a minute like that.”

“I’m trying to get away from you,” she mumbled.

He smiled, plucking one of the tickseed flowers from a well manicured lawn as they passed, handing it to her with his best smile. “I know you’re ignoring me, but I'm really good at being ignored. Like the best. I bet I can get you to have a coffee with me before the week is up. If _I win_ , you’ll pay for _my_ coffee. If _you win_ , I’ll pay for _your_ coffee. How does that sound?”

She took the flower thoughtfully from his hand, tucking it behind her ear. “Emma. Swan.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said with a little wave and a sideways grin. 

“Do me a favor, Neal. Can you just fuck off?”

He nodded, raising his hands in a placating gesture and falling back as she continued on her walk. Goodbye, little girl...

But she had taken the flower. 

And she had called him Neal.

So no, no he couldn’t ‘just fuck off’.

Goodbye, and hello.

He bit his lip, running back to the school to find Belle’s car already gone. He wanted to believe she had seen him leaving with Emma and thoughtfully decided to give him his space. He knew she was probably just mad about the stunt he pulled with the script, though. 

Still, he called his mom on the walk home, leaving another message about his first day at practice and all the new friends he was making.

When he got home, the living room was empty, an eerie sort of echo filling the house as raised voices carried downstairs from Belle and Rumple’s own little private section of the house. 

“You have to tell him, Rumple!”

He couldn’t hear his dad’s response, but he knew it would be in favor of, you know, not talking to him. 

“He told everyone today his last name is Cassidy. That doesn’t bother you?”

“Listen, if he wants to use Milah’s name-” he heard his father begin only to be cut off by Belle’s frustrated shout.

“Why on Earth are you both like this?!” Before storming out of the room and brushing past Neal without even asking him where he had gone today and why he was just standing in the hallway.


	4. Chapter Four: The Cow as White As Milk

_“Only I can lift the spell, the spell is on MY house.”_

_“We must lift the spell together. The spell is on OUR house.”_

**Chapter Four: The Cow as White As Milk**

“Tell me again why we’re going to a party in the middle of fuck all nowhere?” Emma asked as she parked the car outside the apartment complex that their friends lived in and laid on the horn. It was faster than calling all three of them.

She already knew the answer. David was going to be there.

“You didn’t have to go,” Snow said, poking her in the side, expertly avoiding the question.

“Except yeah, I kind of did,” Emma pointed out as three figures rushed out of the building towards the Bug. “I’m the only one with a car, remember?”

The doors flew open, three rushed teens crowding into the back as they slammed them shut again, huddling together in the cold. God, they were cold just walking to the car, how did anyone plan on standing outside all night? Oh, right, booze.

She started the car as Snow leaned into the backseat to hug Robin and Marian 'hello', exchanging pleasantries about what little had passed since they had seen each other this morning at play practice. 

“You look ravishing, as always,” Killian said, leaning forward to plant a greeting kiss on Emma’s check. He reeked of rum and aftershave, already pre-gaming, it looked like. She rolled her eyes and reminded him to put his seat belt on. 

It was hard to focus on the road as Mary Margaret and their friends chatted animatedly, Emma having to pull on her sister’s seat belt more than once to get her to sit back down. That and the GPS on her phone cut out about an hour into the drive, leaving them with only the word of mouth directions that Killian had heard from a guy on the football team who had heard it from his cousin who had heard… 

“What about the new kid?” she heard Killian bark from the back, his arms spread out across the back of the seat so Marian and Robin had to huddle together. Not that they were complaining much. “I mean, he hasn’t put in his time in the ensemble. He didn’t even audition. I’ve never heard of the kid, have you? And now Mrs. Gold is just handing him a lead role. I smell a scandal, anyone else?”

“Mrs. Gold said he auditioned privately,” Snow reminded him patiently. More patient than Emma felt. Snow and Marian had been good friends for a while, and when Robin started dating her friend, Snow had gone out of her way to make sure he felt welcome in their little group. Unfortunately, that meant his best friend was welcome as well. “He seemed nice enough.”

“I don't’ know what you’re complaining about,” Robin said with a nudge, “You got exactly the part you wanted.”

“Yeah, I did,” Killian agreed, with a wink Emma pretended she couldn’t see in the rear view mirror, as they passed another field of cows. She was pretty sure she had already seen that white cow before. They were definitely lost. 

“Wait, wait, go back, I think it’s there?” Snow said pointing to a rusty old sign for a trailer park surrounded by a ton of cars. Oh, hell no. This was Snow’s worst idea ever. 

Still, the three in her backseat were now practically bouncing with excitement, so she pulled her car into the… big dirt pit being used as a parking lot? Finding a little spot between two particularly large trucks, she barely had time to put it in park before they were piling out, giddy as children. 

Emma followed them over to the sign, reading the letters with a snicker of surprise.

The Enchanted Forest Trailer Park.

“Tell me honestly,” Marian whined, turning to face her boyfriend and snuggle into his green coat, “Are we about to be murdered?”

“There’s nothing out here,” Snow pointed out. “Just cows and corn. Like, lot’s of corn.”

“Listen,” Killian instructed, holding up his hand for silence and turning his head ever so slightly. Such a drama kid. “It’s that way.”

“That way is more corn,” Emma said, trying hard to not sound annoyed, and failing really fucking miserably. 

Killian shot her a mischievous smile before darting off into the field, pushing stalks out of the way, the rest of their little group following suit.

Oh, extra hell no.

“So this is how I die,” she sighed, following them through the surprisingly dense corn that pulled and tugged at her equally yellow hair, making her feel like she was in a fist fight with a plant. And therefore, just a tad deranged. This was nothing like the movies where the teens would run gleefully thorough fields of loosely packed corn giggling and teasing as they ran. You couldn’t run in this, you could barely move in this as it scratched and grabbed at any inch of exposed skin it could find. Fortunately for Emma, who never left home without her red leather coat despite the weather, that wasn’t much. Still, it sure did tangle in her hair a lot.

But Killian wasn’t wrong, as she emerged on the other side of the corn field her eyes adjusted to the light of a giant bonfire, kids throwing wooden pallets and broken furniture in it to feed the gigantic flames. There were a couple pickup trucks parked around the outside of the clearing, doors thrown wide and music blaring out across the field, little pockets of different songs, all of them a little too folksy for Emma’s taste, forming around kegs standing proudly in the beds of the trucks, party-goers helping themselves to drinks from little plastic cups. 

And okay, she had to admit, maybe this had been worth the two hour drive. Still, she wasn’t looking forward to pouring her wasted friends into the back of her car later tonight and driving another two hours back. 

“A dance, M’ Lady?” Killian asked, holding out his hand in a mock bow. She looked at it in confusion, before Snow grabbed her by the waist, pulling her away quickly into the crowd and allowing Emma to turn back and offer a little, sarcastic wave in Killian’s disappointed direction. 

“We’re not drinking,” Emma reminded her sister, even though she was much more likely to fall into that trap than Mary Margaret, who just nodded and swayed, dancing to the music. “And we’re leaving in two hours, I don’t want Henry to wake up without me.”

Snow nodded, shushing her as a group of kids from their school walked by. Henry wasn’t common knowledge around Storybrooke. Not that Emma minded people knowing, he was the best part about her seventeen years on this planet, but The Blanchards seemed to be concerned about it. They told everyone he was her little brother, and she didn’t fight it because a little brother you could tuck in every night was way better than a son that you couldn’t. 

There sure were a lot of kids from Storybrooke here tonight. Then again, it was still a few weeks away from homecoming - an event Emma would definitely not be attending despite Snow’s many protests - and so there wasn’t much to do around town. 

But as the night wore on, and Mary Margaret spotted David and his girlfriend out among the crowd, the no drinking rule was lifted and Mary Margaret helped herself to the copious amounts of beer constantly flowing from the kegs in the trucks. In fact, in a matter of minutes, she was dancing with wild abandon; Emma doing her best to keep an eye on her sister and the time, and failing miserably at both. It wasn’t long before she was wandering through the crowds, searching for Snow. 

Or David. 

Because Snow was sure to be wherever he was. 

“Hey, good looking,” came a very slurred voice from behind her, hands unexpectedly grabbing at her ass. She turned, her fist flying before she got a decent look at the guy’s face. Not that that would have stopped her, she thought, as her knuckles cracked into Killian’s nose, blood sprouting from his face like roses. 

Blood. Red blood. So very red. A lot of it.

“Em, what the hell?” he groaned, bringing his gloved hands to his face and watching as the blood poured over them.

“What happened?” Snow asked, appearing out of the crowd with a tipsy Marian on her arm and an even drunker Robin trailing behind them. Oh, so _now_ she appeared.

“Sorry,” Emma mumbled, ducking her head down, “I’ll go get some ice.”

And then she rushed off to find a cooler, leaving Killian to tell a story in which he was completely innocent, she was sure. Still, she shouldn’t have punched him. She was just so frazzled: with the play, and meeting all those new people this morning, and snow wandering off, and leaving Henry at home, and maybe the cute new guy a little bit too. 

But guys were bad news, and the new guy had lied to her this morning. Her superpower never failed.

Maybe she should have just gone with him for coffee, though, then she wouldn’t be here with Killian’s blood literally all over her hands. Gross. She wiped them on her jeans.

And then as if the universe had been listening in on her thoughts, there he was.

Neal sat in the back of a pickup truck with two other guys, a cooler full of ice and beer on the ground by their feet. He had his legs hanging out over the edge, his back half turned to the other two, a short blonde boy with a pinched face and a taller, messy haired kid who looked vaguely stoned, both spread out across the back of the truck like it was a couch.

She turned, hiding her face in her jacket and tried to walk the other way.

“Heeeeeey,” He called, waving her over, the beer in his hand sloshing over the sides of the cup from his drunken sway. “Emma!”

With a resigned sigh, she approached the bed of the truck. “Neal. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, “I could ask you the same thing.”

There was a slight slur to his voice, he was definitely drunk. 

“I’m getting ice because someone punched Killian in the face,” she sighed, reaching into the cooler at his feet and filling up one of the red solo cups sitting inside..

“Who? Where are they? I’d like to shake their hand,” he offered, leaning back further in the bed of the truck to nudge his friends. “Killian is Captain Douche. The one with the earring I was telling you about.”

Both boys smiled, and Emma had to fight hard to suppress hers. 

“That’s not funny, he’s my friend,” she said, thankful that she was the one who could detect lies and not Neal.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “This is Felix and Peter. They’re my friends. You should come sit with us. Stay a while.”

“Like I said earlier today, I need to get home,” she offered, turning to head back into the crowd.

“Cinderella has to be home by midnight!” He called after her.

Fine.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, turning around and stomping back over to the car. “All three of you keep your hands to yourself, no one asks me if I want a drink, and if you bring up coffee again I’m leaving.”

“Fair,” he nodded, extending his hand to help her up into the truck. “What about Killian’s ice?”

She smiled, dumping it back into the cooler at his feet.

But, despite really, really not wanting to, Emma did have a good time. His friends were nice enough, asking her questions about the play, and Storybrooke, and Mrs. Gold. They seemed really interested in Mrs. Gold, who, through the course of the conversation Emma learned, was referred to as ‘Neal’s very pregnant hot stepmom’ around these parts. Neal at least had the decency to seem a little embarrassed about that.

And then he ruined it.

“You know, it’s late, and we’ve been drinking. You can stay with me out here if you want, we can drive back together in the morning.”

It would have sounded incredibly smooth, like Killian’s kind of bullshit, except for the fact that his friends snickered and he immediately began to blush. Okay, so he was at least aware how audacious he sounded.

“Yeah, I’m not really into the whole ‘sleeping outdoors’ thing,” She offered back. Never mind wondering how her friends would get back. Emma didn’t trust the invite, and she certainly didn’t trust that it had been meant for more than just her.

“Then you’re in luck! My house is just down the road,” he grinned, hooking a thumb back over his shoulder.

“You have a house?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, my house,” he reiterated. “All to myself.”

“You have a house?” she repeated just to be clear.

“He has a trailer,” the messy looking kid behind him mumbled, only to be silenced by Neal reaching backwards and smacking him in the stomach.

“My house,” Neal said with that goofy looking grin, sweeping his arms wide.

She leaned across the bed of the truck, his arm falling across her shoulder, and asked, “So, how did a seventeen-year-old come to be in possession of his own house?”

As his other hand fell down lightly on her knee, she realized he had her wrapped in an almost hug, a trap she hadn’t even spotted, trying not to be too aware of just how quickly his friends scattered over the sides of the truck. Good friends.

“Well it’s my mom’s,” he offered, the bluster seeming to disappear with those four little words, his whole attitude deflating. “But she’s out of town for a bit. So it’s mine in the meantime.”

“Where she’d go?” Emma asked, trying her best at small talk but the question seemed to catch him off guard. Good, his arms around her was definitely catching her off guard

“Sailing,” he answered with a contemplative nod. “Her boyfriend has a sailboat and she’s always loved a good adventure.”

“So your dad lives in Storybrooke?”

“Yeah, but we don’t get along. We used to. Like hundreds of years ago. But some stuff came up with my mom, and then he married a woman who was only five years older than me - which my mom and I both have a lot of strong opinions about. And now she’s pregnant and my drama teacher, so yay!”

“Hey, at least you know where your parents are,” Emma offered, “I never got to meet mine.”

“Touché. But also, it’s kind of hard for people you never met to make you so dysfunctional you drive two hours just to get away from them,” he shot back.

Emma begged to differ, about the dysfunction part at least. 

“Family dysfunction is a generational curse,” Emma smiled. “And we all bear it differently.”

“And _she made us get a cow to get the curse reversed_?” Neal sang, his goofy grin and messy hair surprisingly charming. “Sorry, that was just getting pretty heavy out of nowhere. I don't do well with the whole touchy-feeling kind of thing.”

Good, neither did she.

“So you have done some reading,” she said, biting back her own grin. “What do you think so far?”

“Yeah, I read the whole thing this afternoon. It’s not bad. Want to talk about it over coffee? My place is just right down the road.”

“I’m leaving now,” she said, hopping off the bed of the truck, weaving back through the crowds of people to grab her sister.

“Snow, it’s time to go,” she insisted.

“Why?” Snow pouted, her eyes drifting over to David and and Kathryn dancing without a care in the world, Killian sulking off in the distance while Robin and Marian fussed over him like a child with a skinned knee.

“Because if I don’t leave now I’m going to do something stupid,” Emma insisted. 

“You? Stupid and impulsive, no way?” Snow joked, making her back to the car with Emma as she beckoned for the other three to follow. “What stupid thing are you about to do?”

“His name is Neal,” Emma retorted dryly. “And we have to leave.”


	5. Chapter Five: Guess This is Goodbye

_“I guess this is goodbye, old pal, you've been a perfect friend. I hate to have to part, old pal...I'll see you soon again.”_

**Chapter Five: Guess This is Goodbye**

Neal shrugged off Felix's arm and practically slid off the couch onto the floor as the headache hit him harder than his stepmom was going to when she found out why he didn’t come home last night. 

“Oh, God, I think I’m dying,” he moaned, grabbing Felix’s arm only to be swatted away by his friend, rolling over on the couch they had been sharing and clutching Neal’s pillow tighter with the arm that hadn’t been wrapped around Neal. 

They had always slept like that, the three of them, in a dog pile on the couch that had also doubled as Neal’s bed. 

Neal’s mom had made fun of them for it when they were younger, the three of them running around all day with uncombed hair and dirt smeared across their faces, too tired from all their adventures to not just fall asleep where they fell. Her Little Lost Boys, she had called them, licking her thumb and then attempting to wipe some of the mess from their faces. But as the three of them grew older, she had stopped teasing them about it and just started throwing a blanket over them while they slept, too exhausted from all the troubles of being teenagers to find their own space.

Last night, Neal had unlocked the door with a shaking hand, too much beer reminding him of all the times his mom had dropped the keys and he had had to scramble under the porch to look for them. He’d flipped on the lights, doing his customary glance over the place, because maybe if he looked hard enough he’d notice a mug in the sink where he hadn’t left it. Or the door at the end of the hall - the one he never opened - just slightly ajar. 

“I’m going home,” Peter announced as Felix flopped over on the couch.

“Aw, dude, why?” Neal protested. “You’re too drunk. I’m not going to let you drive.”

“I’ll walk. Because, Cassidy, you are technically squatting and I don't want to be here when your landlady calls the cops.”

“I thought your mom owned this trailer?” Felix asked, still face down in the couch.

“She does. But she doesn’t own the plot of land,” Neal conceded, and then before Felix could ask added, “your parents don’t own theirs either.”

And maybe he was squatting. Who knows? His mom might have been still paying the rent checks, it was unlikely given that she had barely paid them while she was here, some months Neal having to scrape together the cash to get the landlord off their back, but miracles do happen and she might have been mailing them.

No one had changed the locks or called the cops so far. 

And he came here frequently enough, whenever Felix had the time to come pick him up, so it wasn't like the landlady didn't know he stopped by. It wasn’t healthy, he knew, to come hang out here without her, pretending like their last fight hadn’t been a monster of a fight, pretending like he could do this without her or his dad or anybody, but sometimes he just felt so claustrophobic at his dad's house. Which was funny considering how little his mom’s trailer actually was. 

So Peter had left and Felix had stayed, because Felix always stayed. Neal felt bad for him sometimes, he knew what it was like to hate one of your parents, he couldn’t imagine hating both. 

God, his head was killing him.

Coffee, that’s what he needed. Had he offered to make coffee for someone last night? He felt like he had offered to make someone coffee.

Oh well, that memory was lost to alcohol forever.

He didn’t so much walk to the kitchen, more like he stepped into it, pulling the large metal tin of coffee grounds down from the top shelf and then throwing a heaping spoonful of them into the coffee maker with a pot of water.

It was his morning routine at this point. He’d always made himself and his mom a cup of coffee before they started their busy day of home-schooling and day-drinking. Neal was really good at home-school, he loved to read and learn and question things and the less restrictive curriculum had allowed him to do so at a faster pace, allowing for tangents and fun facts he would have never been exposed to any other way. And his mom, well she was really good at day-drinking. So this schedule had worked pretty well for both of them.

There had been a big debate when he had first moved in with his dad and Belle over whether he would continue to home-school. Neal had been adamant that he would: why fix what isn’t broken? And anyway, it would make it easier to transition back in the spring semester when his mom came home and he moved back out, not a second too soon. But, Belle had been having none of that. She insisted that he needed a degree from a real school, and while she was thankful he had showed up to take the damn tests every year so that registration wouldn’t be a complete nightmare, she wouldn’t hear of him going through his senior year without real peers and teachers to help him. And his dad had been on the fence, looking back and forth between his wife and his son, not wanting to disappoint either one.

In the end Belle had turned the tides in her favor when she reminded his father that if he allowed Neal to home-school, Neal would be home all day by himself. There was no telling the trouble he would get up to if left to his own devices and as offended as Neal had wanted to be, he had to admit, she was right.

“Morning my sunshines,” Peter called, throwing open the front door and almost hitting Neal in the face. “How are the hangovers?”

“Not good,” Neal managed to growl out, the words getting caught in the sticky, dry feeling of his mouth. He should probably go brush his teeth.

“Mhmhmmm,” Felix mumbled from the couch, throwing up a raised middle finger with his free hand.

Neal poured them each a giant mug of coffee, getting started on the tall order of breakfast next. There weren’t a lot of groceries. For some reason he never remembered to bring anything but beer when he and Felix made their trips out here. And even before his mom had run off with her latest Romeo, Neal had always been the one to do the shopping. In the end, they settled on a can of baked beans, mopped up with stale bread - didn’t matter if it was stale once you toasted it - downing an extra cup of coffee each in silence until Neal got up to make a new pot.

This was the part that always sucked. 

“So, I’m gonna go take a shower, then would you be up for driving me back?” he asked, watching Felix glare into his coffee cup, probably not just because of the alcohol either.

“You coming back next weekend?” Felix mumbled.

“It’s probably not a good idea,” Neal said thoughtfully. “The more I come out here the more I want to stay, you know?”

“You could stay,” Felix offered. “I mean come on, it’s not like you weren’t already taking care of yourself. Your mom was-”

“Felix, watch it,” Peter warned, surely sensing the storm clouds Neal had inherited from his father. His mom was what? And anyways, it’s not like _he_ thought he couldn’t handle it. But there was one tiny problem: Neal didn’t actually have any money, and emancipation required a source of income. He could probably sell his drawings, having done so in the past when they needed money, but that wouldn’t pay the bills forever.

“We just miss you, is all,” Felix mumbled. 

“I miss you guys, too. But it’s nothing permanent. Mom should be back around Christmas. Belle will be having her baby around then too. It’ll be perfect timing, you know? Destiny or fate, or whatever you want to call it. Pops and Belle will get their new son around the same time the old one leaves. I promise, we’ll be throwin’ pennies on the train tracks this year just like every other Christmas Eve.”

Felix nodded hopefully but Peter looked skeptical. 

“Don’t mope Felix,” Peter chided, “Besides, he’s got to get back to that cute little girlfriend of his.”

That didn’t sound familiar? What were they talking about?

“Oh, yeah,” Felix said, a grin creeping up across his face as he joined in on the joke. “She was hot. Not as hot as Belle, but way out of your league, loser.”

Seriously, what were they talking about?

“Emma? From last night? She sat in the truck with us and listened to Lou Reed for like an hour?” Peter prodded.

No way.

“You don’t remember?” Felix asked, “Dude, you told her about your mom.”

Of course he did. Oh, God, did he cry?

“Okay,” Neal said, sitting down at the table and bracing himself for the worst, “You have to tell me. Did I do anything stupid? Did I kiss her? Do I need to call her this morning?”

They laughed, both of them always finding Neal’s cluelessness when it came to women way funnier than he did. Damn, he couldn’t call her even if he wanted to, he had no clue what her number was. Belle would know, but that was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Belle.

Call her.

Fuck.

He dove out of his chair, grabbing the cell phone Drunk Neal had mercifully remembered to plug into the charger last night and turned on the little screen. Three missed calls from Belle, two from his dad, and then five more from Belle. And a text from Peter - a picture taken from a distance of Neal and Emma sitting in the back of the truck. He had his arm around her, his hand on her knee, and the two of them looked deep in conversation. Felix was in the foreground of the picture, making a kissy face at the camera. 

Well, no matter how you wanted to look at it he was in trouble. 

“Okay, I really have to go,” he said, “No shower, let’s just go. I’ll call Belle from the car.”

Felix nodded, grabbing his keys from where they had fallen under the table last night, Peter walking them both to the truck.

“I guess this is goodbye, old pal,” Neal said patting him on the shoulder and holding back tears like he always did when he had to say goodbye to his friends. His fellow Little Lost Boys. They were the perfect friends, and no matter how hard he looked in Storybrooke he would never find anyone who made him feel so much like himself.

“Don’t be a girl,” Peter chided. “Dude, Felix, Neal is crying again!”

“I’m not crying,” Neal insisted as Felix put the keys in the truck and Charley’s Girl began to scream out of the speakers, way too loud for all three of their hangovers. Neal reached out, turning the volume way down before insisting again, “I’m not crying.”

“Man, we’re gonna see you again soon. Christmas, remember,” Felix offered. 

Yeah, Christmas. His mom would be home and everything could go back to normal; Storybrooke would be just a bad dream in his past.

Turning his phone back on to give Belle a call, the picture of him and Emma popped up and he couldn’t help but smile, wiping at his eyes one more time. 

Because maybe it wasn’t all bad.


	6. Chapter 6: Maybe They’re Magic

_“Why you do what you do, that's the point: all the rest of it is chatter. If the thing you do is pure in intent, if it's meant and it's just a little bent, does it matter?”_

**Chapter 6: Maybe They’re Magic**

Emma decidedly did not believe in magic. There was no such thing as miracles, or fate, or destiny, or any of those words other people used to pretend that life wasn’t just pointlessly unfair.

Because it was pointlessly unfair, she knew that for a fact.

But as the next week passed she had to wonder: maybe magic did exist? Because if it did, the new kid definitely had it. 

He was really good at walking that fine line between obnoxious and endearing. 

And not just with her, either. She watched as he mouthed off to Mrs. Gold, the way their drama teacher would scrunch up her nose affectionately before putting him right in his place. She watched him befriend her sister as they ran lines together, more and more Snow sharing funny stories about what Neal had done that day in practice over family dinners. She watched him stumble through his lines, clearly not practicing them at home, and then improvising an ending that made so much sense everyone else just went with it. 

The only one who didn’t like him was Killian, and that wasn’t for a lack of trying on Neal’s part, just Killian’s usual need for attention taking over.

So maybe there really was magic, who knows?

That’s why, on Friday, when Snow came running up to ask her if they could stay, just so that she could run a few more lines with Neal, Emma agreed, reluctantly texting the nanny to ask if that was okay. 

She slunk down into the seat next to Mrs. Gold, smiling up at her sister and offering constructive criticism and some less than polite jests about Neal’s acting abilities. 

“ _If you know what you want, then you go and you find it and you get it-_ ” her sister belted, gesturing emphatically at the audience.

“ _Home!_ ” Neal insisted.

“Wait,” Mrs. Gold spoke up, "Mary Margaret, you're not mad, not yet. Try it with a little less emotion, you’re trying to convince him he’s wrong. Because he is wrong. And Neal, you can yell your lines all you want, no one is ever going to believe you if you don’t put some heart into it. This is your wife. And she is in danger, and you need her to go home? Let’s try it again, okay?

And Emma listened as they ran the lines through at least three more times before calling it a night, really letting the words sink in. _If you know what you want then you go and you find it and you get it_. Smart advice Mrs.Baker’s Wife. 

So as the four of them walked to the parking lot she hung back, tugging on Neal's sleeve.

“Hey, want… want to get coffee this Sunday?”

His eyes lit up. More of that sparkling magic he just seemed to have. 

“Why Sunday?”

“Because I’m not paying for your damn coffee, okay?” she laughed.

Because maybe Neal was bad news. And maybe she didn’t know that much about him. And maybe he was her teacher’s son so her grade could drop drastically if she broke his heart. But Emma had this nagging feeling that if she didn’t take this opportunity now, she would live to regret it. 

And so they had coffee on Sunday. She drove. And then they stayed late to practice lines on Monday. She drove again. And then on Tuesday he came over after dinner to study precalc with her. She drove him home. And on Wednesday he actually stayed for dinner, chatting with The Blanchards about how cute Henry was and how great their cooking was. And before she knew it a week had gone by and she had seen Neal every day. And then another week. 

And then another.

And before she knew it, it was homecoming.

“Can we please go home?” she whined from the dressing room, bouncing a bored Henry on her knee. He’d been cranky ever since she stopped him from putting a set of particularly shiny bracelets in his mouth this morning and she could feel a meltdown coming on if he had to wait for Mary Margaret to try on one more dress that she wasn’t going to wear.

“In a minute,” her sister called from the back dressing room. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to hold him while you go find a dress?”

“I’m not going,” Emma reiterated for the hundredth time.

“You know, you don't have to wait for someone to ask you. You can go with me, then I won’t have to third-wheel it with Marian and Robin.”

“I got asked,” Emma said, wiggling his bear in front of Henry, his attention not distracted from his mood swing in the least. “I’m not _not_ going because I didn’t get asked. I just don’t want to go.”

And she had been asked. She had gotten the customary offers from Killian, Graham, and August. She had turned them all down. Because she didn’t want to go and that was that.

“I bet you would have gone if Neal asked you,” Snow said, stepping out of the room and doing a little twirl in a black and white polka-dot dress, knee length, boat neck. Very much the kind of thing her sister would wear.

“That’s not right at all. About Neal, not the dress. The dress looks great!”

Her sister smiled, stepping back into the dressing room and calling out from behind the closed door. “It’s not wrong either.”

And as much as Emma hated to admit, she couldn't deny that, either.

Because there was right. And there was wrong. And there was in-between. And her feelings about Neal not asking her to the dance were definitely an in-between. And a small part of her thought, as each day went by, as she and Neal spent more and more time hanging out, that he might ask her.

She’d even bring it up as they walked through the halls, pointing at a poster.

“Who would want to go to that stupid thing?” she’d laugh.

_‘Me, actually, will you go?’ he was supposed to say._

Instead he would just shrug and keep walking.

“Snow finally picked her dress,” she told him one night over the phone, “What a waste of money.”

_‘I don’t think it’s a waste of money,’ he was supposed to say, ‘want to to go with me?’_

“I’m sure she’s going to look lovely in it though,” he said instead, changing the subject.

And so more and more days passed and Emma got more and more frustrated with the friendship that had started out so promisingly flirty and had now turned into something amicable, but almost too platonic for her taste. She knew she wasn’t the prettiest girl in the school, definitely not the most likable, but she couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t asked her!

Until finally the day of the dance was upon them and she and Henry kissed her sister goodbye, waving and smiling as Snow climbed into the uber she and Marian and Robin were sharing. 

And then fuming, she strapped Henry into his car seat and drove across town to the Gold residence, banging on the door with one hand while clutching Henry to her hip with the other.

An older gentleman answered the door, with shoulder length brown hair the same color as Neal’s and the same grumpy, confused sort of look. He wore all black, clearly work clothes, but he had undone the top button of his shirt, untucked it even. She had caught him trying to relax.

Because of course Mrs. Gold wouldn’t be the one to answer the door. She was chaperoning the dance. Emma felt a little dumb.

“Um, I’d like to speak to Neal please?” Emma asked, trying to hold onto a little of her anger as she bounced her son on her hip. 

The man looked shocked for a moment, but he opened the door a little wider, turning back into the house and yelling over his shoulder. “Son, you have a visitor!”

They both waited there in silence for a moment before he shouted again, “NEAL!”

Still nothing.

“Those damn headphones,” he mumbled, inviting Emma in with a sweep of his arm before disappearing down a little hallway and reappearing moments later behind Neal, wearing a grey t-shirt and sweats, a rather comfortable looking gaming headset resting around his neck.

“Emma, what are you doing here?” he asked, ruffling Henry’s hair as the little boy reached out for Neal, an almost constant fixture in their house these days. “Hey, little guy.”

Still trying to hold on to some of her fire, but very aware that his dad was watching, she blurted out, “Why didn’t you ask me to the dance?”

He paused, those two little lines between his eyes creasing as he tried to puzzle through what she had just said. “Wait… you wanted to go to the dance?”

“No,” she hissed, “But I wanted you to ask me.”

“You wanted me to ask you… so you could tell me no?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have said no, if you asked,” she said looking away. He was too cute when he was confused and she was losing her anger too quickly, starting to feel silly. 

“Want to go to the dance?”

“Well, it’s too late now,” she sighed.

He raised his watch to his face, shaking his head. “No it’s not, the dance just started, come on, let’s go.”

He had her by the elbow, halfway to the door when his dad stopped them. “Like that? You’re really going to the dance like that?”

“Well yeah, pops, Emma’s not dressed up and I don’t want to make her feel bad,” Neal said, offering her a sideways smirk.

His dad sighed, “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but - How trustworthy is she?”

“Trustworthy?” Neal asked as Emma bristled at the question. “About as trustworthy as me, I’d say.”

“So not at all?”

“Not at all,” Neal said, with that same sideways smile he always had just for her, seeming to enjoy watching his dad squirm. 

“You have ten minutes,” he said, turning to Emma. “Go get something out of Belle’s closet. And if I find any jewelry missing…”

“Wait, really?” Emma asked, looking first at Neal, who shrugged, and then at his dad, who pointed aggressively towards the stairs. Reluctantly she handed Henry over to Neal, stumbling up the stairs, unsure of what to do.

Ten minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but she managed to find something - Mrs. Gold’s closet was HUGE - that fit and felt at least a little her style. Running her fingers through her hair she descended the stairs again, trying hard not to trip over herself with nerves.

“Wow,” Neal said as she came into view. He had gotten dressed quickly, a nice grey button down, a black vest and an adorable bow tie. Oh, she was definitely going to tease him for that later. “You look great.”

She could see his father, behind him, trying not to smile with pride. It was kind of cute really.

“Surprised I clean up so nice?” she asked, taking Henry back and hoping to whoever was out there listening in the universe that he didn’t spill, rip, or vomit on Mrs. Gold’s dress. Because it was a really nice dress. It was the only one she could find that wasn’t blue - a nice golden shade with little metallic hearts embroidered around the off-the-shoulder neckline. It fit tightly around her chest but flared out around her waist, coming to settle in pleats of stiff fabric around her knees.

Neal regained his composure quickly enough, putting on a laughing smile as he led her back to the door. “No, just surprised Belle even had a dress that long. Why’d you put on the only one that doesn’t fly up with a stiff breeze?”

“Watch your mouth, Cassidy,” she teased, and though Neal couldn’t see it, behind him, his father flinched. Of course, his dad’s last name was Gold. That must be a sore spot. 

“Bae,” his father called from behind them as they slipped out onto the front porch. “Be back by midnight.”

“Come on pops, I think we both know I won’t be.”

What was that supposed to mean, Emma worried. Of course, it had been a joke. She knew it was just a joke. Just a defiant teenager trying to get a rile out of his dad, but it raised the question: if the dance ended at ten, and it was twenty minutes down the road, why wouldn’t he be back at midnight? What else would he be doing?

And was Emma really opposed to that idea?

So, as she drove, she over thought everything. Had she come on too strong? After all, he hadn’t even asked her to the dance and now here she was, in his mother’s dress, driving him to the dance. Did he even want to go with her, or did he just think he was getting lucky?

And would he sit the fuck down? Because it was really making her nervous watching him lean around the passenger seat to mess with Henry, the toddler’s distracted excited noises from the backseat only added to her anxiety. 

She pulled to a stop at a red light, turning around, annoyed and snapping, “What are you doing?”

Neal paused, pointing to the bow tie he had put loosely around Henry’s neck, “Now he’s fancy too.”

She chuckled, putting her foot on the gas as the light turned green. 

“This is stupid isn’t it? What are we doing? I didn’t want to go to the dance, and clearly you didn’t either and now…”

“Hey," he cut her off. "Why’d you ask me to the dance?”

“Does it matter?”

“I mean, yeah - it’s the only thing that matters. Everything else is just noise. Because if you asked me because _you_ wanted to go to the dance, then let’s go to the dance. And if you asked me because you thought _I_ wanted to go to the dance then that’s sweet, but you didn’t have to. And if you asked me because _you like me_ and you didn’t know any other way to do it-”

“I wanted to go to the dance alright? I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it. I just asked. And it was stupid, and they probably aren’t even going to let us in with Henry.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything, but why are you toting your little brother around?”

“Because I’m watching him tonight.”

“But couldn’t your parents do that?”

“He’s my responsibility, okay? And I can’t just pawn him off on someone else. That’s what my parents did to me and I will not do that to him.”

“Okay, except he’s your brother. And you’re seventeen.”

“He’s not my brother,” she sighed, waiting for the freak out she was sure would follow. She hadn’t told anyone before, so she didn’t know for sure, but yeah, he was probably going to freak out.

He turned back to face out the windshield. “Cool… Cool… So just to clarify, he’s your-”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

“Do you want me to take you home?” she sighed.

“What? No! Are you kidding? We’re almost there and we’re all dressed up. So what if they don’t let us in? We’ll just dance on the steps.”

But they did let them in. It took Neal a solid ten minutes of pleading with Mrs. Gold, his hands pressed together as if in prayer, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, but eventually she relented and they were allowed to bring little Henry into the dance. 

“What did you say to her?” Emma asked as they entered the auditorium, Henry transfixed by the lights immediately reaching out to grab the little dots of color as they floated by.

Neal shrugged, “Everyone tells tiny lies sometimes, what’s important is that Henry is already having a blast.”

And have a blast, he did. All three of them did. The two of them danced with Henry and each other, big smiles plastered on their faces, a giggling toddler taking turns swaying in her arms or dancing on Neal’s feet. They shared a plate of cake with just the one fork, the way Emma had always seen couples do and hated with every fiber of her being, but something about including Henry just made it feel more… pure. She liked the way Neal laughed as Henry put frosting on his nose. Loved the way Henry wiggled to the music as the two of them sang along. 

And people did stare. But so what? Cause Neal didn’t seem to notice and if he wasn’t embarrassed by the two of them then why should she be on his behalf?

And maybe she was crying a little bit, by the end of the night, as Neal helped her buckle a sleeping Henry back into the car, making sure to tuck his bear in with him. But Neal was right, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was she had wanted to go to the dance, _with him_.

“Do you mind if I take Henry home before I drop you back off at your house?”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, leaning against the side of her car. “It’s really out of your way and I am no stranger to walking.”

“No, I want to. I need to give your mom her dress back,” she said, “I just don’t want to risk waking him up again.”

And she couldn’t say goodbye properly with Henry there on her hip. 

“Stepmom,” he corrected, “But sure.”

And so he said ‘hello’ to Snow and The Blanchards, making awkward small talk in the living room as she put her son into his pjs and tucked him in with his bear. He’d had one hell of a night, they both had, and he was exhausted. She would have been too, except her night wasn’t really over.

As they got back into the car Neal turned to her, anxiety written on his face.

“Hey, so you know how you said you’d take me home?” he asked, swallowing hard.

She nodded.

“Are you up for a drive?”


	7. Chapter Seven: Our Little World

_“Our little world is big enough for me. Perfect. Our little world is all it needs to be.”_

**Chapter Seven: Our Little World**

Two hours was an awful long time to sit next to someone in a car without changing your mind. Two hours of singing along to Emma’s old Yazoo and Depeche Mode CDs, sharing stories about happy memories from their childhoods, stopping at a gas station for snacks and sodas. Two hours was an awfully long time to hold onto an idea, to feel it in your bones as right and good and true. So when after two hours, they pulled up to the little trailer he had shared with his mom, he knew that if this was a bad idea he would have realized it long before now. 

That’s why, when he turned his key in the lock, stepping into the little trailer with Emma on his arm, he was shocked at the sudden weight in his stomach as panic hit his heart.

This was a bad idea.

He loved this trailer, it had been his world growing up. Their world. Him and his mom. Life threw a lot of crap at them, but none of it could reach them here in these walls.

But now, seeing it from the point of view of an outsider, he knew - this was a bad idea. 

For the first time, after almost two months of living with his dad and Belle, he could see the trailer the way Emma must be seeing it.

The living room was about eight feet wide, the entirety of it taken up by an L shaped couch and a little coffee table that made the whole thing impossible to navigate to a grown adult. He and his mother had hung a shower curtain around the half of the couch on the back wall, sectioning it off as his own little room so that he could have some privacy, but that just made the little living area feel more cramped. The fact that he’d forgotten to clean up the last time he was here, magazines and candy wrappers still falling off the little coffee table, did not help that feeling much. 

The kitchen was equally small, it could only fit one adult at a time, or two small, intimately acquainted teenagers if you tried hard. It had the basics, a fridge, a stove, a sink, and a counter top. He and his mom had added a coffee pot and a toaster to the counter, trying not to clutter the space but needing those things to get by. There was a little window into the living room, above the sink, that Neal had always loved because it meant he could be standing in the kitchen washing dishes and talking to his mom while she painted her toes on the couch. But now it just highlighted how little privacy there actually was.

And he didn’t even want to think about what Emma must be thinking about the dingy white patio furniture set, crammed between the entrance to the kitchen and the front door. Four plastic chairs and a table with a hole in the center, meant for an umbrella, his mom had always covered it with an ashtray. They’d found the thing on the side of the road and dragged it back here, needing a table but not wanting to spend money on one. 

It was their little world. And it had been a blessing, a shelter from the storm of life. 

And of course Emma was going to hate it. Because who wouldn’t hate it?

He looked at her nervously out of the corner of his eye as she took it all in, looking for any signs of alarm or distress. Why on Earth had he thought this would be a good idea?

Because he hadn’t thought.

He’d had a fun night, with an amazing girl, and the only thing that could have made it better was home. And so he’d asked to go home. 

He wished she would say something though, stop keeping him guessing, tell him what she thought of his little world. Of their little world. Because maybe she really liked Baelfire Gold, smartass son of a successful businessman and part-time actor. Maybe she didn’t really know Neal Cassidy at all, wild child and free spirit, part time caretaker of his even wilder mother. 

“This was such a bad idea,” he sighed.

“No!” she exclaimed, taking a small step away from the front door and somehow ending up in the kitchen. “I love it! It’s so cute, and tidy! I stayed with a family, after Ingrid died but before juvie, and they had a trailer like this. But theirs was a mess and everything was broken and this is really cute.”

“Really?” he asked, unable to believe his ears. She liked it? She saw what he saw?

Wait…

“Juvie?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, turning to press her face through the little open window above the sink and look out into the living room. “I spent some time there when I was fifteen. Actually I had Henry there. It’s a long story, I got caught stealing from a gas station, the judge didn’t know I was pregnant. Hell, I didn't know either, to be honest. We were fortunate enough that my caseworker was able to arrange for him to go to a family that was willing to take me too when I got out. It’s not a super sexy story.”

She was babbling. And smiling. And not judging him or his mom at all. 

Okay, so maybe he had been right. 

Maybe this was a good idea, after all.

“You want the tour?” he asked.

“I would love the tour!” she exclaimed as he pulled her outside, careful to leave the door slightly ajar so they wouldn’t be locked out.

“This,” he said with a dramatic sweep of his arms, “is the fireplace. Well, firepit. I built it myself. Mom and I used to sit around it and she’d play her guitar and I would sing. Oh, and Felix and Peter, you met them, they’ll come over and roast marshmallows sometimes. It sounds dumb, but it’s a ton of fun.”

“It doesn’t sound dumb,” she assured him as he pulled her back up the stairs and into the living room.

“This,” he said, throwing back the curtain with a grin, “Is my room. It might look small, but I assure you, it’s pretty small. But look!”

He lifted up the cushion of the couch to reveal the storage drawers underneath, filled with his sketchbooks and a few of the clothes he hadn’t wanted to take to his dad’s.

It was small, but it was cozy, and it had always been big enough for him.

“You can draw?” she asked, picking up one of the books and flipping through it. Smiling at the landscapes he had drawn of Peter’s yard. The portraits of his mother. The funny comics he had sketched to make Felix laugh. 

“Yeah,” he confided, watching her set the book back down reverently so he could close the drawer, “It’s how I got sucked into the whole play thing. Belle was complaining she needed some set designers and another baritone and I offered, you know, cause set design. And I ended up being her other baritone.”

Emma chuckled, tugging him back towards the kitchen, her hand warm and soft in his, excitement bubbling out of her as she exclaimed, “Tell me about this room!”

God, she was cute. She was perfect. 

He laughed, squeezing in next to her. “This is our five-star kitchen-”

He paused because she was going through the cabinets now and that was a little embarrassing. Cause there was nothing in them. Not nothing. There were some old boxes of pasta, some canned vegetables. A tin of sardines. Not nothing, but certainly not anything he would want to feed her.

“Don’t bother checking the fridge,” he laughed, “It’s empty, except for beer.

“So this is the diet of the great Neal Cassidy?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in really close. Too close. Okay, well, there was no such thing as too close, but the thought made him squirm a bit.

Because of course that’s what she thought was going on here. Of course. How could he be so stupid? It was one in the morning. They had driven two hours to be alone. There was no way they were driving two hours back tonight. Of course she thought that was his intention.

But hey, she wasn’t exactly hating the idea, right?

She had come all the way out here, right?

“Yeah,” he choked out, “that’s like three food groups right there. And if you want to be really fancy, I think I’ve got some Cherry Garcia ice cream in the freezer. I mean, I'm not an expert but I think that’s a pretty balanced meal.”

She giggled, brushing her lips against his neck, and he tried not to jump into the air like one of those cats in an old cartoon when someone stepped on their tail. 

He should tell her. Right? That was the kind of thing you give girls warning about?

Except he really didn’t want to. And maybe, he tried to kid himself, she wouldn’t be able to tell. Maybe he’d be so good at it, she wouldn’t know. Yeah, okay. That was the real reason he probably shouldn’t bring it up. She’d know anyway. 

“And, over there behind that door,” he said gesturing to his left, “Is the bathroom, but when you open the door you can’t really see inside and you can’t really close the door with more than one person in there. So you'll just have to take my word for it, that it’s there.”

“And what about that door?” she asked, pointing to the one Neal never opened, at the back of the little trailer. He felt his mouth, which had felt just a little too wet a moment before, go completely dry.

What was wrong with him? This was a good thing. She was here, and she was gorgeous, and she wanted him. And that was a very good thing.

“That’s my mom’s room,” he mumbled as she tugged him back towards his bed by his belt buckle and he felt everything inside him turn to hot lava and then cold steel all within a matter of seconds. “I don’t go in there.”

And suddenly, he doubled back on his original thinking, because, hey, this was a very bad idea.

She smiled coyly at him, sitting down on his bed and gesturing for him to join her, continuing to tug at his belt and he really, really wished she’d be just a little more careful with her hands. “Neal,” she prompted, “Come sit with me.”

And he wanted to. Or he thought he did. But his feet seemed to be glued to the floor. 

He was kind of freaking out a little bit. Okay, a lot.

Because she was beautiful and she was in his bed and she was tugging at his belt and all of those were good things. 

But she was wearing his stepmom’s dress, and despite always kind of having a thing for Belle, that was not an image he wanted to associate with this very important moment. Because that was the kind of image you spent years of therapy trying to get rid of and Neal had plenty of other reasons to go to therapy. 

And they were at his mom’s place.

Not that his mom would have minded this use of her trailer, Neal was sure. She probably would have found it funny. Probably would have been proud to come home and find him tangled up in bed with a girl way out of his league. And she would have hated Emma, because she hated most things, but she would have invited her to stay for breakfast and they would have teased him together over coffee. And that image alone was almost enough to propel him forward, but now Emma was looking at him funny.

Is this what a panic attack felt like or was he just actually dying?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he croaked. Was it hot in here or was that just him? Probably just him. “It’s just that we haven't even kissed yet, and-”

She cut him off, pushing herself up onto her knees so that she could press her lips against his, her hands tangling in his hair and God, that felt so good. Without thinking, because he wouldn’t have been able to if he’d stopped to think, he leaned forward, pressing her back against the wall as he brought his own knees up on either side of her, straddling her lap as she moaned into the kiss. So, hey, he was doing something right. Maybe.

But try as he might, he just couldn't keep those intrusive thoughts out of his head.

Like how earlier tonight she had told him she had a baby. And he wasn’t judging. Really. Because that would be a very shitty thing to do; to judge someone for making such an incredibly difficult and super cool decision like that. But it meant that she had… more experience than him. And he wasn’t judging her for that either. It was what it was. Like one of his video games. Yeah, that’s the way he wanted to think about it. Emma had put in her matches and was now playing ranked. And that was cool. It was just that Neal hadn’t put in as many hours, he was still grinding out solo matches to earn his invite out of the unranked crowd. Grinding out solo matches? Ok, ew, gross. Maybe that wasn’t the way he wanted to think about it. 

Seriously, he couldn’t remember if it was your left arm or your right arm that was supposed to hurt before a heart attack, but every inch of him was throbbing in pain so it probably didn’t matter.

And also he had probably been holding still for too long now because she was looking at him like he was crazy again. Say something. Be witty. Be charming. Ok, forget that… just say words. Any words.

“Are you alright, Neal? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, burying her face in his neck, her lips working magic across his skin as she waited for his answer.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? This wasn’t about her. Or him. Or the dress. Or anyone’s experience.

The problem was that from the moment he walked in here he had been seeing ghosts and it felt completely inappropriate to try and have such a private moment with her while the ghosts of his memories looked on. 

Ghosts like his father and mother, standing just a few feet away from where he now held her, little Baelfire hiding behind the couch, as the two screamed accusations at each other. _“You're a coward. And a cheat. You’re a terrible husband!” “And you’re a terrible mother, Milah, but for some reason your son still loves you!”_

And the ghost of three Little Lost Boys, running in circles around the coffee table, bumping bruises into their arms, tearing holes into their clothes, as they wrestled and tumbled without the supervision of an adult. 

The ghost of his mother, sitting with her head over the tub and a cigarette gripped between her fingers, as Neal washed dark brown hair dye down the drain, massaging and later braiding it for her. Because his father, the monster, had married a teenager and his mother couldn’t stand it. And so Neal had helped her dye her grays and they’d both put on face masks meant to prevent wrinkles and talked trash about the kind of woman who would be even remotely interested in his dad.

Ghosts from two months ago, Neal and his mother, screaming as she threw a suitcase at him. _“Mom, stop running away from me, I’m trying to talk to you! I can take care of myself!” “No you can’t. You can’t. It’s not forever Neal, it’s just until Christmas. Just until I’m back and there's an adult in the house again to take care of you.” “I’ve spent the last seventeen years taking care of you and you think I can’t take care of myself for a few months!”_

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling away from her and hoping that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, that he was really, really sorry to have wasted her time tonight.

She looked up at him, shifting her weight a bit so that he was forced backwards off the couch, her tone incredibly measured as she asked, “Was it the baby or juvie?”

“No, Emma it wasn’t that. It’s not you,” he assured her, not liking how big her eyes got at the last sentence. Yeah he probably shouldn’t have said that. Rushing on to try and fix it he said, “I just think we might be moving too quickly. You know, we’ve only known each other for a month now, and until about five minutes ago we hadn’t even kissed.”

“You're right, Neal,” she said, standing up to face him. The look on her face said that he wasn’t right. He wasn’t even in the ballpark of right. “I am taking things too quickly. Because _I_ asked you out, and _I_ drove two hours to be with you, and _I_ kissed you. So yeah, _I_ am moving too quickly - like always, but maybe instead of telling me to slow down you should speed the fuck up! Why did you ask me here Neal? What was the point? How did you envision this night going?”

He wasn’t really sure, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. But if he had to think of something on the fly, maybe talking? Maybe showing her more of his sketches? Maybe he’d play her a song on his mom’s guitar? Maybe they’d cuddle and he’d hold her and make her coffee in the morning?

But none of those felt like the right answer. It didn’t matter though, because he had taken too long to think of something and now she was storming out the door and Neal was tripping over his feet, rushing down the steps trying to follow her, trying to explain. “Emma, I’m not saying I don’t want to. I really want to. Just, not here and not now.”

“Then when and where?” she asked turning on her heels and he could see a couple of the lights in the neighboring trailers turn on. Milah Cassidy might not have been here to interrupt their sleep with her lover’s rows, but don’t worry everyone, her son was picking up the slack. 

“I don’t know,” he said as honestly as possible, rushing around to the passenger side door as she climbed into the car. “Emma, I don’t know because I don’t know what my life is going to look like from one month to the next. I mean this is great now, but are you going to come visit me in three months when I move back here?”

“Wow,” she said, slamming her door a little too hard, and he was hoping the little click of the lock he thought he heard was just his imagination. But he couldn’t seem to get the damn passenger side door to open.

“Emma, don’t leave. You can stay the night. We can talk about this! I want to talk about this! It’s just a lot more complicated than you know!”

But it was too late, and he was watching the taillights of the little yellow Bug disappear down the dirt road that led away from his little world with a frustrated sigh of disappointment. Frustrated in more than one way.

He walked a couple doors down to the double-wide section of the park, stopping to bang on the familiar door of trailer 222-311. He knew it was a three-bedroom, with seven people crammed inside and he was potentially waking every last one of them up. He didn’t care.

“Felix, if that is your god damned girlfriend at this hour, boy, I swear!” He heard a voice scream from within and then a sleepy Felix pulled the door open to find Neal, still in the stupid vest, looking like a sad puppy.

“Not Wendy. Just me,” Neal said with a sigh.

“Neal, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Not having sex, that’s for sure,” Neal mumbled. 

“What else is new?”

“I’ll tell you on the ride home.”

“I’ll get my keys.”


	8. Chapter Eight: I Know Things Now

_“I had been so careful; I never had cared. And he made me feel excited! Well, excited and scared.”_

**Chapter Eight: I Know Things Now**

She should have taken her own advice. She knew he was bad news. Knew he was just another idiot. She had told herself time and time again that boys were just trouble wrapped up with a deceivingly attractive bow. 

But Neal hadn’t been a well wrapped present with bad news inside. He had been more like a cute little gift bag full of lots of soft, colorful tissue paper. And it had thrown her off.

But what did the package matter: if there was still only trouble inside?

Life was getting trickier with the curve balls it kept throwing at her. 

Because he was no ordinary idiot. No, he had been so nice and sweet and he hadn’t set off her superpower, not once since that very first day. And so she trusted that he was different.

And he’d been different, she thought. Or was he just so good at misleading her, like he had said on that Saturday after play practice, that he had somehow managed to fool even her well-honed lie detector? 

She just didn’t get it. The pieces weren’t adding up. 

Why bring her out here just to tell her that she was coming on too strong?

Why go from hot and handsy one minute and “it’s not you” the next?

It couldn’t have been Henry - she had told him about that before they’d made the drive and it hadn’t bothered him. Juvie, maybe? But then why not pump the breaks a whole lot sooner?

What had she said, right before he backed off? She had asked him to sit with her. She had asked him what was wrong. She had done everything right. 

So why was she parked on the side of some highway crying her eyes out because some boy didn’t want to sleep with her?

Some boy, who was kind of right, because they hadn’t even known each other all that long. And what did it matter, whether he wanted her or not? She was worth more than his opinion of her.

This is why she had always been so careful not to let herself care about things. People in particular.

It was just her and Henry, and sometimes Snow. And that was just fine.

It was time to get back on the right path. Head down, heart removed from sleeve, okay with being alone.

But it had been nice, having a friend for once that hadn’t been Snow’s friend first. Having someone all to herself for a little bit. And she could admit that, that Neal had been a beautiful thing for her, a wonderful friend, and maybe that was all he was meant to be. Maybe she just shouldn’t have asked him to the dance. It had been exciting to think about maybe being more than that, and a little scary too because let’s face it, she probably shouldn’t have driven all the way out here to be alone with him in the middle of the night, but exciting nonetheless. Like those swings at the fair that spin you around really high. But they always come back down again. And that was all there was to it. The exciting ride was over and now it was time to get off.

Okay, get yourself together, girl. She couldn’t drive home like this. She had to stop crying long enough to get back to Henry safe and sound. Because Henry needed her to be safe and sound.

And so somehow she made it home, and she unlocked the front door, and she planned to go sneak up to Henry’s room and sit with him in his rocking chair for a while, but that was never meant to be.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark she saw Mrs. Blanchard, with a crying Henry in her lap. She looked like she wanted to be mad, but Emma was crying. And Emma never cried, at least not in front of other people. And just the sight of her baby crying brought all the tears back to her eyes. And the more Emma cried, the louder Henry wailed, and so Mrs. Blanchard wrapped them both in a hug, comforting and loving the way a mother should. 

“I just feel like such an idiot,” Emma wailed.

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Blanchard assured her. “What happened? Everything was going so well when you two stopped by earlier.”

And Emma just shook her head because she didn’t know what happened, honestly. One second he had liked her and was holding her and didn’t seem to care about all the baggage she had unloaded on him in such a short span of time. And then it was over. And she had no clue what happened.

So she sat there and she cried until she couldn’t cry any more. Once all the tears were gone, she took Henry into her lap and brushed his hair back from his forehead and breathed in the sweet baby smell that always brought just a little bit of calm to her otherwise chaotic life. It brought calm to her life because when he was there, she had to be calm. Henry was all that mattered.

“You know, this wouldn’t be such a big deal if you were just a teenager Emma, teenage girls do silly things like breaking curfew all the time, but you understand why you can’t do silly things like that, right?” Mrs. Blanchard prodded. “We got you that car because you need to be able to take Henry to daycare and doctor’s appointments. And you’ve always been a very safe driver, Emma, but I worry about you letting Neal distract you from the decisions you need to be making right now. Do you understand?”

She nodded, yes, she understood. Because it didn’t matter where life took her, whatever path she chose to walk down, Henry was always there at the beginning and end. Henry was the whole damn path. So she took Henry upstairs and put him back to bed, promising that she wouldn’t do something that silly and stupid again because what if Neal had been dangerous? And what if she had gotten into a car accident? And what if, what if, what if…

It didn’t matter anyways. It was over before it had even begun.

And hey, she learned a lesson too. Wasn’t it nice to know something new?

Not really. 

She was not happy to see, when she crept back into her room, that she wasn’t going to have enough time to sleep before play practice. She needed a shower, and was starving, and had promised she’d show up early to run lines with… well, that was an idea! Such a stupid idea. But it might make her feel better. And it wasn’t dangerous. Stupid, but not dangerous. 

So after showering and gently folding Mrs. Gold’s dress into her drama bag, she did something she swore she would never do.

She dialed the number the was for last case, dire emergencies, seriously, someone-better-be-dying situations only. 

It picked up after only one ring.

“Hey, I’m hungry. Want to get breakfast at Granny’s before practice? I can pick you up on my way over.”

And of course the answer was yes.

“I kind of thought Neal would be buying you breakfast this morning,” Killian said as he handed his dad’s credit card to the waiter, waving away Emma’s attempts at paying. 

“Killian, what I’m about to tell you is just between us,” she whispered, not enjoying the way he leaned in with that sickening grin, his jaw resting on his hands to signify she had his full attention. “You tell anyone about it and I’ll break your nose again, you hear?”

He nodded.

“Neal and I drove back out to where that party was a couple weeks ago,” she started. 

Killian’s whole face fell. He suddenly seemed much less interested in her story. 

“He took me to his mom’s place,” Emma continued, compelled to keep going despite her better judgment. “She’s out of town so it was just us. And-”

She tried to pick her next words very carefully, Killian drawing circles with his finger in the air, telling her to go on.

How much blame did she want to take here?

None felt good. Let’s go with none.

“He had me in his bed, I barely even touched him and he started freaking out. He told me that it wasn’t the time or the place. And we fought and I just have no clue what happened.”

Killian smiled, nodding ‘thank you’ to the waiter as he set their plates down in front of them. “I can tell you what happened, but you’re not going to like it. Or who knows, maybe you are, maybe that’s your thing.”

She rolled her eyes, mirroring his ‘get to the point gesture’ as she watched him pick at the plate of pancakes in front of him. 

“Your boy’s a virgin,” Killian laughed. 

No. Neal? No. He was just too laid back around women to be a virgin. Too casual with his sense of humor. Too good a kisser. 

No, it was something else, it had to be. She had done something wrong, she just didn’t know what.

“No,” Emma said, shaking her head. “That’s not it.”

And so what if he was? It didn’t explain why he’d practically kicked her out. Maybe she’d been a little too forward, maybe his request to slow down shouldn't have been taken as an insult, but if there was one thing she knew about teenage boys - of the virgin variety, that is - was that they were dying to not be anymore. So, no, Killian was wrong and she was stupid for believing that any of this would make her feel better. But Emma just really wanted to feel wanted right now. And at least in that regard, Killian always came through.

She sipped her hot chocolate as he waited for her to say something. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” she offered tersely. 

“Hey,” he said leaning across the table and tearing her hand away from the drink, “Can I tell you one of _my_ secrets?”

“I don’t really want to know your secrets, Killian,” she mumbled as he played with her hand. 

“My secret is this: any man who doesn’t want you, in every way, doesn’t deserve any part of you. You are beautiful, and intelligent, and you’ve got an amazing right hook, and it is his loss that he is not the one telling you how much he admires you over breakfast.”

“That’s not a secret,” she said with an eye roll, “That’s just a complement. But thank you.”

“My secret is this,” he said with a smile, “I have real feelings for you, Emma. Genuine feelings. And I never thought I was going to feel that way for someone so soon in my life, but here you are, and I’m totally breathless every time I look at you.”

And it was just so nice it made her eyes water a little because today had been a really tough day and apparently she wasn’t done crying. 

He reached across the table to pull one of the cut flowers out of the vase, offering it to her with a rakish grin. 

It reminded her of the tickseed flower Neal had absentmindedly picked for her the very fist time they met, and that made her eyes water even more as she took the flower, biting her lip so that nothing too dumb could slip out.

Because Killian was being so nice to her.

But _nice_ was different than _good_.


	9. Chapter Nine: A Very Nice Prince

_ “When you know you can’t have what you want, where’s the profit in wishing?” _

**Chapter Nine: A Very Nice Prince**

Neal was in an awful mood at play practice the next morning. 

Felix had dropped him off sometime around four in the morning. 

“And where have you been?” Belle asked, hands on her hips, hair and makeup still done up for the dance the night before.

“Morning, Felix,” his father said, nodding to his friend who hung awkwardly in the doorway.

“I just went to see Felix and Peter. I wanted to tell them about my date,” Neal lied. 

“Felix,” his dad said, turning to face the weaker of the two boys, “Did Bae bring a girl with him?”

“No, sir.”

“Were drugs or alcohol involved?”

“No, sir.”

“And where did the three of you hang out in the middle of the night?”

Waffle House, Neal thought. McDonald's. Gas station parking lot. Peter’s place.

“We were just at Milah’s- um, Ms. Cassidy’s \- trailer, sir. We were safe.”

Well, Felix was, at least. Neal was in very big trouble and he knew it as he watched Belle’s posture shift and his dad try really hard not to pop his jaw out of it’s socket from grinding his teeth so hard.

Belle offered Felix the guest room in exchange for his betrayal, worried that he shouldn’t be driving for four hours in the middle of the night and he had gladly accepted, hanging awkwardly in the little hallway as Belle and Neal’s father towered over their wayward son. Felix had had to break up his fair share of fights between Neal and his mother before, and he probably wasn’t sure if he would be needed now. 

“Felix,” his father growled, “You can stay for this if you like, but I don’t recommend it.”

Without a moment’s hesitation his friend was scurrying off down the hallway while Belle and his father proceeded to tear Neal a new one for two hours. He knew it was two hours because as they yelled he watched the minute hand on the clock tick by, each tiny notch another minute of sleep stolen from him. Two hours. Because what did he think he was doing coming home at four in the morning? And how long had he been visiting his mother’s trailer? And why hadn’t he called? And as long as he lived under their roof… blah, blah, blah. Oh, and this was his second strike after the bullshit he had pulled with that party a couple weeks ago, did he understand? 

Personally, Neal hoped that when he got to strike three they’d just kick him out and then he could go home.

And so after they were done yelling, and Belle had made sure to give him a sweet, but confusing, moment to ask any questions he might have had for them - he didn’t have any, by the way - he stumbled off down the hallway listening to the fight continue even after he slipped into his room and shut the door.

“This is all your fault, you know,” he heard Belle yell at his dad. Well not yell, just that slightly more insistent voice that was her version of yelling.

“I know, I shouldn't have let a seventeen-year-old borrow your dress-”

“My dress?! You think I care about my dress?! Did you know he still had keys to that deathtrap?”

“Yes,” he heard his father answer coolly, “He mentioned it on one of our nightly Father-Son heart-to-hearts.”

And okay, Neal hated his dad, but he was a little proud of that one.

“Well, you’re taking his keys away,” she insisted. “And I’m calling the landlady so she’ll know to keep an eye out for him. He should not be out there by himself!”

But Neal hadn’t been by himself. Which probably made it worse, but whatever. Fortunately they didn’t know that part of the story.

“I agree.”

“And you  _ will _ talk to him about Milah.”

“Yes, dearie,” he heard his father call as Belle’s feet echoed up the stairs. “Just one little thing? Do  _ I  _ have to be the one to take his keys?”

He was answered by a slamming door somewhere upstairs.

Good, she was leaving it up to his dad, who was a coward, which meant Neal would get to keep his keys. 

He closed his eyes to get exactly two hours of sleep before Belle was banging on his door and demanding he get up for play practice. 

He ripped open the door with strength that was surprising even to him and growled, “I’m not going. I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Well, thanks to you, the rest of us didn’t either,” She shot back, “So put on a clean shirt - or don’t, I don’t really care - and get your ass to that car in five minutes.”

“If I’m not there in five minutes, will you leave without me?” Neal asked dryly.

Belle was about to respond to that with something Neal definitely did not want to hear when the guest room door behind her was tugged open and Felix poked his head out. “Can I come?”

So they sat in the backseat of the car while Felix not-so-subtly hit on his stepmom, being driven to play practice like children. And Neal sulked and he pouted, but he went to play practice. Some days compromise was easier than others. 

Because he had promised his mom, after all. He would give this his best shot. It’s just that some days his best wasn’t very good. So, he was trying, within reason.

Belle, who was clearly still mad at him, rearranged the order they were supposed to do the blocking for their scenes today, making sure that none of his were on the list. And as mad as that made him, he had to respect it a little bit too. Because she had dragged him out of bed, made him be here when he didn’t want to, only to have to sit and watch everyone else’s scenes.

And, though he couldn’t prove it, and he knew she would never admit to it, it sure did feel like a lot of Killian and Emma’s scenes were up on the docket today. Like, a lot more than usual. 

He and Felix sat in the back of the auditorium, running lines out of his script, Felix pretending to be The Baker’s Wife and Cinderella and anyone else Neal needed to rehearse his parts, occasionally staring off into space for too long until Felix would feed him his next line and they’d pretend that he had just forgotten and not that he was distracted.

“It’s only scary the first time, you know,” Felix offered, catching Neal watching Emma put just a little bit too much sincerity into the scene where Cinderella leaves The Prince. She was either a really great actress or really mad at Neal. 

Neal pretended he hadn’t heard him.

“I know Peter and I give you a lot of crap about it, but I think you’re psyching yourself up too much-”

“Hey, can we not make a bigger deal out of this than it is?” Neal asked, turning back to his friend and pointing to the next line in the script.

“Want me to go back to teasing you?”

What he wanted, most of all, was to know what Emma wanted.

“Yeah, that would be helpful.”

“Okay, if girls blew you like you blew all your chances last night, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“That’s better, thank you,” Neal said with a shrug, looking back to the stage where Emma was not being at all subtle about the daggers she was glaring past her acting partner and straight to him. He was surprised Belle didn’t correct her -  _ Emma, it’s important to note that Cinderella isn’t angry at The Prince, just disappointed  _ \- but maybe that was part of his creative punishment too. 

“ _ I was raised to be charming, not sincere _ ,” Killian said, turning to the audience with a wink as he paused for the laughter that line would inevitably get from the audience. Neal thought he hammed it up a little too much, but Killian was the one with four years of acting experience, so what did Neal know?

And Killian was charming. He was certainly passionate about what he wanted. He was handsome and clever and… tall? Yeah, Neal had exhausted his list of positive things to say about Killian. But maybe girls liked that. The guy wasn’t just Prince Charming in their play, he was fairly popular outside of the theater as well. 

And he had noted, despite doing everything in his power to not notice, that Killian had gotten out of Emma’s car this morning. And it made him a little sick, wishing so hard to be in Killian’s shoes.

Killian paused in the middle of his dramatic exit, turning thoughtfully back to face Emma on stage, a quiver in his voice as he said, “ _ I shall always love the maiden who ran away. _ ”

That’s my line, Neal thought bitterly. But it wasn’t. Because he was The Baker and Killian was The Prince and if he was being honest with himself it was pretty perfect casting. 

“ _ And I shall always love the far away prince _ ,” Emma answered, with a touch of sadness in her voice as Killian left and they finished the scene, Belle and the rest of the cast exploding into applause. 

Felix looked at him for approval, a quiet nod from Neal, before offering his own claps and whistles to the crowd. It was a shame Felix lived out in the middle of nowhere, Neal thought, he would have really loved to have been a part of this. 

Neal was no prince. And girls like Emma deserved a Prince Charming.

And that’s when he had an idea. And it had to be good.

Because he felt like it was bad. 

And last night he had been so sure that such a bad idea was good that… even he couldn’t untangle that logic. But what did he have to lose really? How could he know, unless he was willing to try it?

And so, as practice finished up, Neal waited outside the men’s room, leaning against the door while Felix kept lookout until Killian walked out, startled momentarily to see Neal but regaining his composure quickly enough. A smug look spreading over his face in contrast with Neal’s intimidating frown.

“Someone told me a delicious secret about you today, Bae.”

Delicious? Nope. Plan B. Neal was just going to punch him in the face instead.

But maybe his weird word choice was part of his charm, so Neal bit his tongue and waited for him to get to the point.

“I hear your personal resume is as lacking as your acting one?”

What did that even mean? Was this douche speaking another language? Neal could feel himself getting more and more frustrated and he hadn’t even gotten to his point yet. 

“We’re going to kick this guy’s ass, aren’t we?” Felix called from around the corner, and okay, maybe Neal enjoyed watching Killian jump a little bit in surprise. 

“I need a favor,” Neal said.

“What kind of favor?” Killian asked, narrowing his eyes just a bit.

“Teach me to be more like you.”

“You want to be like me?” Killian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“ _ More _ like you. Don’t push it.”

“Alright.”

Well that had been easy. Too easy.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Killian said, throwing his arm around Neal’s shoulder and turning the corner to be joined by Felix who trailed suspiciously a couple feet behind. 

“Why?” Neal asked.

“Because, when I win Emma over, and I will win Emma over, I want it to have been a fair fight. And this,” he said gesturing to himself and Neal with a smirk. “This is currently not even close.”


	10. Chapter Ten: First Midnight

_ “Sometimes the things you most wish for are not to be touched.” _

**Chapter Ten: First Midnight**

Calling Killian had been a mistake. A big one. Because now he wouldn't leave her alone. He was everywhere she looked: around school, practically on top of her during play practice, even showing up at some of her and Snow’s favorite hangout out spots and intruding loudly on their time together.

And what was worse?

Neal was acting really weird.

No, she hadn’t expected an apology. She hadn’t really expected much of anything, but she was hoping for enough space to get over her wounded pride and then maybe they could go back to being friends, amicable and a little awkward, but friends nonetheless.

But he seemed to have adapted Killian’s lack of space, and furthermore, his cheerful straightforwardness had been replaced with something else she couldn't quite put her finger on and it made it really hard for her to forgive him. Because she wondered if it had all just been an act to get her alone? And that made her a little uncomfortable, because she hadn’t detected it at all, and Emma prided herself on always knowing when people were lying. 

And yes, she knew, no knot unties itself - but Emma wasn’t the untangling kind, so instead she adapted a rather careful routine of avoidance. 

Snow sighed, leaning against her locker as she watched David chat with his friends on the football team from across the hall.

“Can you get the hearts out of your eyes?” Emma asked, seeing Killian approaching and doing her best to duck behind her sister without being too obvious, “It’s making it really hard to talk to you.”

“I just wish…” Snow trailed off with another heavy sigh.

“Sometimes the things that we wish for aren’t meant to be,” Emma offered, and then hating herself for it, but trying to adapt her sister’s overly hopeful line of logic in an attempt to get through to her. “Maybe there is a reason that the universe is keeping the two of you apart. Maybe what you want and what you need right now are two different things.”

“You know what?” Snow said, turning to her with a bit of annoyance. “Just for that - Hey! Killian! Hey! We’re over here!”

And then with a coy little wave of her hand she slipped off into the crowd. 

Emma sighed, turning to walk away as quickly as possible. But he caught up to her. Of course he caught up to her.

“So,” Killian said with a grin. “You, me, Friday night? Dinner at Granny’s and then a movie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re right, let’s do something where we can really get to know each other. Talk, and laugh, and fall in love. Mini-golf then?”

“My objection wasn’t to the movie, Killian,” she said through gritted teeth as the two of them passed Neal. Emma averted her eyes quickly to avoid the awkwardness.

“I’m going to keep trying Emma,” he said with a grin, “Because sometimes the things that are harder to get are better to have.”

Ew. Gross. Gag. He was quoting his script at her. Like she wasn’t there reading it with him every day. Like she wouldn't notice. 

And then, during lunch, for Take Two of terrible guy bullshit, Neal slid across the table from her and instead of offering to swap her apple for his brownie like they used to, or even just opening with an interesting tidbit about his day, he just went right for the throat.

“You, me, date Friday?”

“No.”

“Come on, I’m not going to take no for an answer. We can drive out to the country, look at the stars. No, sorry, um, that’s stupid. Um, I’ll take you to a movie?”

She had almost said yes. Until he had called the actually good date idea stupid. She could picture the two of them, Henry in-between, stretched out on a blanket, looking for shooting stars. But Henry didn’t do well in movie theaters. He didn’t like the dark and had an embarrassing tendency to scream at all the quiet parts.

“I’m busy this Friday. And every other Friday from now until eighteen years from now, remember?”

Neal paused, looking confused for a moment, as if not sure what to say to that. “I mean, I thought it was assumed that Henry is always welcome.”

Which was kind of sweet. 

“Why are you trying so hard?” 

“The harder to get, the better to have?” he offered with a grin that was not his own. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like liars, or misleaders, or pretenders. And she couldn’t trust the sincerity of the rest of his conversation when he threw in stupid lines and fake smiles like that. 

“You know,” she said standing up and dumping her tray. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that today.”

And it went on and on like that all week. Killian throwing his cheesy lines at her. Neal butchering the same cheesy lines. 

“You and me, baby girl, we could be a real adventure,” Killian would say as he blocked her way to class.

“You and me, us together, we could have some fun adventures,” Neal would say as he tried to walk next to her, having to jog a little to keep up.

“A pretty flower for a pretty girl,” Killian would say, offering her a rose - where at school was she supposed to put a rose? - and pressing a finger to her lips, “Don’t say anything, your smile is enough.”

“You touch me with that finger again, I’ll break it.”

Neal brought her flowers too, pink daisies woven into a chain that she could wear like a necklace. But then he tried the whole, “Your smile is thanks enough line.” So she gave the daisies to Snow and Marian who were thrilled to wear them as flower crowns. 

“I would follow you to the end of the world, darling,” Killian would say after she asked him to stop following her. 

“Stop following me,” she would tell Neal, who would furrow his brow in confusion.

“No?” he’d ask, but fall back all the same.

And it went on and on. By Friday she was exhausted from the sheer effort of trying to avoid them both. She just wanted to go to school, and then play practice, and then get home to her little boy. She didn’t have time for any other boys, stupid and persistent as they may be.

“I can’t do this anymore, Snow, you have got to help me,” she whined as she turned on Henry’s nightlight and white noise machine. “Say something to Robin. Tell him to put his dog on a leash or something.”

“Well that would solve one of your problems,” Snow laughed, standing up from Henry’s rocking chair and following Emma out of the room, back down to the kitchen where her sister began to dig in the cabinet for mugs. “But what about Neal?”

What about Neal? She really wasn’t sure. He hadn’t been himself lately. And it was annoying. But she was also worried that if he did go back to being his normal, sweet self that would be an even bigger problem for her already tenuous impulse-control.

Emma sighed, filling the mugs with water and setting them both in the microwave for a minute. “Yeah, I guess that is a problem too.”

“I thought the daisies were kind of sweet,” Snow offered.

Emma did too. Not that she’d admit it.

“He asks about you, you know,” Snow offered. “Not in, like, an obvious Killian sort of way, but he does ask. When you come up.”

“He’s being weird,” Emma mumbled, leaning on the counter to face her sister who was absentmindedly twirling on the bar stool.

“I think he’s going through some stuff,” Snow said with a frown. “Honestly, I think if you keep ignoring him, he’ll give up soon.”

“Good.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“Yes. Don’t look at me like that! This isn't like you and David. I’m not like you, I don’t dream of a big fairy tale wedding and all that jazz. I’m happy. Alone.”

“Of course you’re not like me,” Snow smiled as Emma retrieved the two mugs from the microwave, stirring in the packet of hot chocolate and sliding her sister’s across the counter. “You’re like David.”

Emma was done with this conversation. 

“Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor!” Snow yelled after her as she stormed back up the stairs with her hot chocolate.

Her cellphone had three missed calls from Killian and one from Neal. One voicemail. That was the weird thing about Neal - if he didn’t get you on the phone, he always left a message. It played with her anxiety a little bit, to see the voicemail icon on her phone but it also made her feel like every call he made had a purpose. Even the voicemails that were just him rambling about his day, interspersed with questions about hers. She liked those best of all.

She had wanted Neal. Really wanted him. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s worth losing what you already have. And his impulse decision - okay, her’s a little too - to drive out to the country in the middle of the night had put her life with Henry at risk. And she wasn’t going to lose that over some boy.

She toyed with the idea all night, until finally, midnight arrived and she found her courage. She opened her phone and blocked both numbers.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Giants in the Sky

_ “And your heart is lead / And your stomach stone / And you're really scared being all alone. And it's then that you miss all the things you've known / And the world you've left/ And the things you own.” _

**Chapter Eleven: Giants in the Sky**

One might say that things were not going Neal’s way. 

He was trying really hard to keep his promise. His grades were good. He was getting better at emoting his lines for the play. He had even signed up for a driver’s ed class on Sundays. Not that his dad would ever let him borrow the car, but he thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a license. So that he could stay in touch with his friends once he moved back to his mom’s place. 

And therein was the major problem. What friends?

Besides nightly games of League with Felix and Peter, he didn’t have any friends. The other kids from school were nice to him, but they had known each other most of their lives, making him just feel like an outsider. And Killian, who he’d been spending more time with as of late, hardly counted because though they traded jokes and comments about girls, there was none of that real affection Neal knew friends were supposed to have for each other.

And Emma and his mother still weren’t returning his calls.

In fact, Emma’s calls went straight to voicemail every time. Every time. Like her phone was dead or something.

He’d brought it up one night over video games. 

“Maybe she blocked you,” Peter said.

Neal had logged off immediately. Account warnings and low-priority rankings be damned. He didn’t feel like playing.

He called Felix.

“Come pick me up?”

“Is your stepmom going to kill me?”

“No,” Neal promised. And then to be safe, “Why don’t you just come get me at the diner down the street?”

As they drove, Neal stared out the window, trying to ignore the thunderclouds looming overhead like big, tall, terrible giants in the sky. He was thankful that Felix hadn’t brought Peter with him. Because Peter would have had questions about the logic of this plan. Peter was the planner of their group. But Neal was the doer. And Felix was the follower.

And so Felix hadn’t had any questions when Neal threw his little suitcase into the back of the truck. And Felix didn’t ask any questions when Neal asked him to stop at the grocery store. And finally, Felix still didn’t have any questions when they pulled up to the little trailer and Neal checked both ways to make sure the landlady wasn’t around before hopping out of the car and heading inside.

Looking around at the world he had left, Neal sat down on his little bed, trying not to picture Emma in her golden dress. He wasn’t in the mood for those kinds of mental images right now.

There was nothing like his tiny bed, in his tiny trailer, to really put into perspective just how small he was. But she had made him feel… Big. And important. And like maybe he was the kind of kid with a mother who loved him and a father who wasn’t desperately trying to recreate his first family, but with better materials this time. 

But that wasn’t him. This was him.

And he could do this on his own, everyone else be damned. This was a good thing, a good idea. Here, on his own, he could do whatever he wanted. Explore wherever he wanted to go. He didn’t have to care out here, he could be Neal “The Lost Boy” Cassidy, going places and doing things without worrying about what anyone would say or think or do.

Of course, he’d have some practical things to work out, he thought as the clouds broke and rain began to fall on the trailer roof like lead and stones, but he didn’t care. Those were tomorrow's problems.

Today, he was his mother’s son.

And so he began to tidy up. Because if he was going to live here full time he didn’t want it to be a mess. It had never been a mess when he and his mom lived here, thanks to Neal’s diligent sweeping and washing, and so it shouldn’t be one now.

After that he put the groceries away, making a sandwich out of the lunch meat and bread he’d bought, and collapsing onto his bed to eat and listen to the rain pounding overhead like giant’s fists. Slowly he began to doze off, warm and comfortable to dreams of his mom coming home.

But he woke up cold and alone. 

And he had to admit, the feeling he was chasing in this trailer wasn’t here anymore. There was no mother to kiss his forehead as she tucked his blanket around his shoulders. No comforting hugs when life had knocked him down, encouraging him to pick himself back up again. 

He didn’t want to live out here alone. He wanted to live out here with his mom.

So he cried, because Neal had always been an easy crier. 

And then he dialed a cab, not wanting to bother Felix a second time in the same night. 

This had been fun. This little failed attempt at running away. But it was over now and he really wanted to go home. And home wasn’t here right now. Maybe it would be again after Christmas, but right now home was where the roof didn’t leak and the lights didn’t flicker and maybe someone would ask him about his day - if that wasn’t too much to ask.

And so as the cab pulled onto his dad’s street sometime in the middle of the night, the roof of the house growing larger with every passing second, he forked over way more cash than he would have liked to, carrying his little suitcase back through the rain to the living room where of course they were both waiting. 

Before they could say anything he reached out, handing over the keys. And then he shuffled back to his bathroom to take a shower and get ready for bed.

And to call his mom. He hid in the bathroom, rambling into the phone about how much he loved her and how much he missed her and how much he was looking forward to Christmas. And how not everything was okay like he had been saying. How his first real date had ended terribly. And how public school was just so exhausting sometimes. And how he was sorry he had lied to her but maybe if she could just pick up the phone and talk to him he would feel a little better and be ready to try again, but harder, tomorrow.

And when he was done, cut off by the beep that let him know his voicemail was too long, he headed back into his room to find his dad sitting on the bed, keys still in his hands, expression unreadable.

“I like the stars,” he said, pointing up to where Neal had started connecting the stars he’d painted with a silver sharpie to form constellations he could fall asleep to. “You should do something like this in Gideon’s room. Belle would probably really like that. I would too.”

Neal nodded, climbing into his bed around his dad and pulling his blanket up over his head. 

His dad patted his knee, standing up to let him sleep, and Neal couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of his eye that someone had unpacked his suitcase for him - the empty shell now sitting open on top of his dresser. 

“I’m really glad you came home, son. I know it’s hard right now. But let’s try a little better tomorrow, okay?”

And he listened to the hushed whispering outside his door picking out words like “mother” and “punishment” as he fell asleep to a dreamless sleep. 

Belle looked surprised when she came downstairs the next morning to find Neal fully dressed, two cups of freshly made coffee in travel mugs, waiting with his play stuff by the front door. He made quick work of apologizing to her for the fright he had caused everyone last night, and okay, those other times too, and he promised not to go back to the trailer alone again. 

Neal considered this his second try, and it was going to be different than before. He couldn't live in-between anymore. Just waiting for December. So he would commit to now. And eventually Christmas would get here. But to give today his best try he had to be focused on today. Not on what had happened. Not on what was going to happen. Just today. And that would be enough. 

And so Belle chatted with him animatedly the whole way to the school, and Neal listened carefully and asked the right questions, sipping his coffee as she told him all about how The Second Prince’s actor had broken his leg. Neal asked about understudies. He knew he didn’t have one, he wasn’t sure if the others did. Belle confided that she had a few students in her remedial English class that she had bribed with extra credit to learn the lines just in case, but they hadn’t been showing up to practice because she was really hoping she wouldn’t need them. 

And that was how Neal met David. 

He and Mary Margaret were huddled together in the right wing, going through their lines together for It Takes Two when she happened to trail off, staring dreamily into space at center stage where Killian was trying to teach a very attractive looking kid - there was no way that guy was in highschool - the choreography for Agony.

Neal read his line again, hoping this would pull her attention back in. But it didn't, she just continued to stare and then sigh dramatically, and okay, he would bite. 

“Who’s that?”

“That’s David Nolan,” she answered. So she _could_ hear him. Good to know. “We were best friends all through middle school, and then he started dating Kathryn, she’s playing Rapunzel, and suddenly he wasn’t supposed to hang out with girls anymore.”

“So did you like him that whole time, or just the last couple years?” Neal asked with a cheeky grin as she turned back to face him, a red blush creeping across her otherwise perfect complexion. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” he laughed, “you’re hiding it really well.”

Her blush increased, but they got back to their scene.

Later that week, he found himself sitting next to David in the audience, watching The Witch’s Lament, and attempting to make small talk.

“That your girlfriend?” he asked, nodding up to Rapunzel on the stage. She was pretty enough, but she wasn’t Emma. And personally, she didn’t have any of Snow’s sweet approachability. But that was Neal’s own personal preference, he knew not everyone was looking for that kind of thing. 

“Yeah,” David nodded absentmindedly, “She’s good, isn’t she?”

No. She was a terrible over-actor, screaming and shrieking all her lines, and even though he knew Rapunzel was supposed to be dramatic it still made him cringe.

“Yeah,” Neal offered, “She’s somthin’. How’d you two meet?”

“Freshman year,” he confided. “You know. One of those high school things that just got way out of hand. And now it’s senior year and we’re both going off to different colleges next year and I’m having to figure a lot of things out.”

“You gonna propose?” Neal asked, thinking that was a normal question. It’s what people did where he came from. It’s what his parents had done. You date all through high school and then you settle down because being alone is scary and taking risks is hard and so most of the people he knew - Felix included - were all starting to contemplate that kind of thing right about now. 

But David’s face said that maybe, here in Storybrooke where the majority of his peers were college-bound, that wasn’t such a normal question. And then, unexpectedly, David leaned in with a whisper. “I think she’d like that. But I’m not sure it’s what I want. You know?”

No. Neal had no clue about any of the complex emotions wrapped up in that statement. But he nodded and began to plan his next project.

Because what he had heard was that David  _ might _ like some options.

And Neal liked Snow. He really did. So he decided to do her a favor. 

After school a few days later, on the way into the auditorium, he picked a fight with Killain. Well, a fight would assume that they had anything to argue about. No, in the hallway outside the theater, in front of God and his stepmother, Neal walked up to Killian and punched him right in the jaw. No words or thought behind it. And yeah, it felt good. It was really gratifying actually. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, Neal split his lip, a lump of a bruise forming immediately.

“What the hell, man?” Killian yelled, swinging back and the next thing Neal knew they were on the ground. Or, actually, Killian was on the ground. Neal was on Killian. And they were both probably going to be hurting tomorrow.

Of course, the whole ordeal lasted maybe a minute or two before Belle was dragging him off Killian with the force of ten men. Eight months pregnant and in high heels, but breaking up the fight as if she wasn’t even capable of feeling fear.

And then she was yelling and threatening to kick them both out of the play and Killan was crying and Neal was tuning her out because he’d gotten really good at that. 

Also because Neal remembered what she had said about understudies and knew that she couldn’t replace them even if she wanted to at this point. 

A theory that was proven when she tried to run the scene for Any Moment despite Killian’s busted lip and obvious lisp. 

“This isn't going to work,” she sighed, looking up sadly at Snow who was about to cry. “I’m sorry sweetie, I know you really need to work on this scene, but Killian can’t today.”

And Snow did need to work on it. She was a great actress, pouring her own lovability into her character, a stubborn sense of perfection causing her to run scenes over and over and over again until they were just right. But Snow also had a thing about kissing on stage. She had never been in a role before that had so many stage kisses. Which was fine, Belle tried to block around that, aware that the comfort of her actors was much more important at this age than the production value of her play. And so first they had removed the kiss from the end of Maybe They’re Magic and Neal had not complained one bit because kissing girls was not his specialty, not in private and certainly not in front of an audience that would inevitably include his parents and friends. But they’d had a harder time removing the kisses from Any Moment, because… well, that was the point of the song, wasn’t it? And unlike Neal, Killian complained loudly and often when his scenes were changed. And so Snow really did need to rehearse this scene because she froze up the very moment that her acting partner came onstage.

“What about David?” Neal suggested from his seat in the back, holding an ice pack over his eye. Killian was an idiot, he could still participate with a black eye. That’s why Neal had made sure that his punch had hit Killian squarely in the lip.

“What?” Belle asked, turning to look at where Neal had his feet crossed on the chair in front of him.

“I mean he was the understudy for both of the princes, shouldn’t he be able to step in?”

Neal watched Snow’s eyes grow large in panic. 

“Yeah,” David said, getting up from his seat and shrugging off his coat. “I can do the lines Mrs. Gold, don’t worry.”

And so they ran it again, and Snow was less mechanical, but she stuttered and fussed with her lines a lot more.

“Don’t worry, Mary Margaret. Your character is nervous too. You can use that. Just, let David lead,” Belle encouraged.

And so they ran it again, David really hamming it up, just the way Killian would have done, and Snow channeled the nervous stutter into the dialogue, but couldn’t seem to shake it as her character gained confidence throughout the scene.

“You don’t have to look at him,” Emma encouraged from the front row, “The Baker’s Wife talks to the audience all the time, look at them. It’ll be funnier anyways if he’s fighting to get your attention.”

And so they ran it again, but halfway through, when they got to the only kiss that Belle had left in, Snow tripped, and fell and dragged David down with her and they had to start the whole thing again. Everyone, Killian and Emma and Belle rushed to give her advice. 

“Neal?” She whispered, questioning from her spot on the edge of the stage. “What do you think?”

She wanted his opinion?

And so he moved up front, sitting between Emma and Belle to cheer her on, offering running advice as she went through the scene, laughing and heckling. And at first Belle and Emma both turned to glare, because he really was being rude, but the more jests he threw, the more silly suggestions he made, the more Snow seemed to relax and by the end of the fourth take, she was almost believable, goofy even, as her character glided through terrible decisions. 

The only hold up was still the kiss. Belle had blocked it so that The Prince would turn her away from the audience, dipping her backwards, and the whole thing would look like a kiss without having to be one. But the problem with that was, you really had to sell it. And Snow just couldn’t sell it.

“What do I do?” She asked, Belle and Emma rushing in to offer more feedback while David and Killian discussed his role off near the wings. “No, not you guys. Neal. What do I do?”

And so Neal gave the only advice he had. 

“I think you’re going to have to kiss him,” Neal whispered, grinning like an idiot.

And she did. 

And it worked.

And he felt pretty good about that.

“Hey,” Snow said, catching up to him in the parking lot on his walk home. Because apparently Belle’s car was reserved for men who didn’t punch their peers. Which was ridiculous because before his dad was the refined gentleman Belle knew and loved he had been Milah’s fun-loving bastard of a husband. So if Neal had to walk home for punching a kid, his dad should be walking for the rest of forever. “That was a nice thing you did today.”

He bit his lip, raising his eyebrows in mock confusion. “Punching Killian in the face? Yeah, I thought I was doing the world a favor.”

“You know what I mean,” she said. “And since you helped me, I’m going to help you. Just once, you hear, because this is a total betrayal of trust, do you understand me?”

He nodded, sticking his hands deeper in his pockets to brace himself for whatever ridiculous piece of advice Snow thought was going to help him. 

“Tomorrow me and a few of my friends will be at Granny’s for dinner,” she said with a grin.

“Are you giving me a dining recommendation?”

“No. Me and a few of my friends will be celebrating. A birthday. Together.”

Oooooh…

Oh!

“Thank you,” he whispered, wanting to ask more but knowing she wouldn’t give it to him. After all, she was right, when your sister was actively avoiding a guy, telling him where to find her was a real violation of trust. Anymore would be pushing it. 

“Opportunity, Neal, is not a lengthy visitor. Also, just remember, guys like Killian, they get punched in the face. So maybe, stop trying to be like Killian.”

And with a wink and a small twirl she was gone, walking the other way down the path, like his fairy godmother. 

So maybe Neal had made one friend.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Agony

_“Agony, beyond power of speech! When the one thing you want is the only thing out of your reach_.”

**Chapter Twelve: Agony**

Emma tried really hard not to show disdain for the surprise party that Snow had put together for her. It was sweet, and her intentions were good, but Snow had no way of knowing all the anxieties turning eighteen brought about for a Foster kid, particularly a foster kid _with_ a kid.

And so, instead of running right back out the door of Granny’s, she put on her best fake smile and sild into the booth next to her sister. This was going to be agony.

Regaining her composure she laughed at their jokes and smiled at their compliments and joined in on the playful banter.

And maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

Marian had baked cupcakes with little star shaped candles on top, and Snow had bought a tiara that said ‘birthday girl’ on it and they all made her wear it, and maybe it wasn’t as hard to smile for the pictures as she thought it was going to be. 

But Killian’s constant flirting was agony.

And Snow’s chattering on about Neal and how helpful he was with her lines was misery.

And being away from Henry was was torture.

So at the end of the night, when they’d finished their meals and Snow announced that it was time for gifts, Emma was a little relieved. 

Because that meant it was time to go. 

And so she opened the gifts and smiled at sweaters and books and thanked everyone because really, it wasn’t their fault that the one thing she wanted wasn’t going to be in any of these packages.

“Thank you guys,” she said in earnest. “It means a lot to me that you’d come help me celebrate. This has been wonderful.”

That wasn’t completely a lie. If she hadn’t had so much on her mind, it would have been true. 

She got up to leave but Snow yanked her arm back down. “We can’t go yet!”

“Why not?”

Her sister was avoiding eye contact, her fingers nervously drumming on the table. Intriguing. But Snow had planned this, so she sat back down and they all ordered a round of hot chocolate to wash down their cupcakes and Emma got the vague idea that her sister, who was terrible at keeping secrets, was stalling.

But whatever they were waiting for, it didn’t come. 

Finally with a resigned sigh, Mary Margaret gave up and allowed everyone to leave the table, all of them walking outside in a huddled mass because despite being bundled up in scarves and coats, it was really cold outside. Her sister tugged on Killain’s coat while Robin wrapped his scarf around Marian and the five of them began their walk home. 

“Emma?” called a voice from behind. 

No way.

She turned and there he was, sitting on the bench, playing with the edges of his scarf.

“Neal?”

“Can we talk?”

And she turned to ask her friends to wait for her, but they were already ten steps ahead down the path. And while Killian looked a little reserved about leaving her behind, Mary Margaret was rushing them all on as quickly as possible. So that’s what they had been waiting for. 

She would have asked him what he was doing here - how he knew about her surprise party - but she already knew the answer to that one. Instead she went with, “How long have you been out here? You look freezing.”

“Quite a while,” he said, moving over on the bench to make room for her. For the first time she noticed he had a colorful gift bag at his feet. 

“Why didn’t you come in?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Of course he didn’t.

They sat there quietly for a moment, Emma listening to him nervously hum the tune he and her sister had been rehearsing all week.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“I do,” he said with a sigh, and then regaining some of his cheer, “But first, gifts!”

She watched as he reached down and picked up a little red gift bag, offering it to her with a nervous smile. She took it cautiously, rooting around in the copious amounts of tissue paper for whatever was inside, her hand falling on a little box made of hard plastic at the bottom.

A necklace. 

It was silver, a simple chain, with a small round pendant. There was a swan engraved into the metal. Neal was doing that nervous thing he did, where the corners of his mouth tugged downward but it wasn’t quite a frown, watching her as she took it out of the little box, holding it up in front of her to admire the simple design of it. It was exactly her style.

“You like it?” he asked, a nervous smile finally playing across his face, “I’m no good at shopping for girls.”

“No it’s perfect, help me put it on,” she said, turning her back to him and raising her hair so that he could clasp it together around her neck. She liked the way his hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment before falling away.

Back to nervously humming.

“What did you want to say to me, Neal?”

“I don’t want to say I’m sorry. Because I’m not,” He spit out quickly, rushing on. “Not for what happened at my mom’s. I know I hurt your feelings, but I meant what I said - it wasn’t the right place or time. I probably shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up by bringing you out there, but I just wanted to show you a place that meant a lot to me. And maybe kiss you. I led you on, and that was wrong, but it wasn’t my intention so I’m not sorry about that.”

“Is this your first apology?”

“What I _am_ sorry for,” he said, holding up a hand, “is all the weird stuff that happened afterwards. I’m going through an odd transition, and that doesn’t excuse douchey behavior, but I’m hoping it might explain it. See, I’ve spent my whole life looking out for my mom. I love her, but she’s a mess sometimes. And so I had to pick up the slack a lot.”

Emma nodded. She could understand that. Responsibility had a funny way of making you grow up fast. To have it ripped away from you - she could see how that would be hard. To have to go from constant caregiver back to a micromanaged child, she could definitely relate. ”I’m sorry, Neal.”

“The stupid thing is this isn’t the first time she’s done this,” he said with a bit of a shrug, turning away from her to look out over the courtyard. “She ran off with a boyfriend when I was five and I had to come live with my dad for a year. But it didn’t work out and so she came back. And then she went on this cruise when I was fourteen, with her friends, and I was supposed to be staying with my dad just until she got back, but the cruise kept getting longer and longer and I was getting a little too old to believe it then.”

“But she came back?” Emma guessed.

“Yeah. So it shouldn’t bother me this time. She says she’s going to be back by Christmas, and I have no reason not to believe that. Except for she’s not answering my calls. That's not what’s bothering me though, not really. What's really bothering me is that before she left, I wanted to stay out in the trailer near my friends and she told me that she didn’t trust me to take care of myself. Which hurt my feelings because I thought I was doing a pretty good job of taking care of her, so why couldn’t I take care of myself? And so coming to Storybrooke, and this play, and even seeing you at my mom’s place in Belle’s dress - it all just kind of reminds me of how inadequate I feel sometimes. So I think I was overcompensating a bit.”

“You think?” Emma said with a soft punch to the shoulder. Because sarcasm was the only way she knew how to deal with that kind of stuff. And maybe it wasn’t the right response, but it was the only one she had to offer him.

He smiled that ear to ear grin she loved so much, confidence replacing the nervous fidgeting.

“What I wanted to say to you Emma is this: I like you. I really like you, a lot. And I don’t know what’s going on in my life right now, but I really want you in it. And I’m sorry I don’t have anything fancy or romantic to add to that, but it’s how I feel and I wanted you to know.”

“So where do we go from here?” Emma asked cautiously, because she wasn’t about to put herself out there again only to have him rip it away from her. Because he had liked her at the dance too, and look where that had gotten them.

“Well, if you don’t run away from me in the next ten seconds, how about we go inside? There’s a claw machine at the back. I’m really good at those and you look like you could use a bear.”

“No one is good at those,” she laughed.

“I am,” he assured her, “There’s a trick to them, let me show you.”

And so she watched as he messed with the machine, eventually having to spend about five dollars before he could triumphantly hand her a little stuffed bear with a bright yellow bow around its neck, grinning proudly at his small accomplishment. Sometimes he reminded her of Henry, in the childish way he loved handing her everyday objects as if they were treasures. 

“That’s a very nice bear, thank you,” she said, leaning against the machine and biting her lip in what she hoped was a seductive manner.

But he was too busy fumbling in his pocket to notice. He pulled out another dollar.

“I’m good with only one bear, Neal,” she laughed, stopping his hand with her own and letting their fingers lace together. 

“Not for you,” He laughed, “For Henry.”

And for a moment her powers of speech failed her. He was everything she could have wished for.

“We’ll share,” she whispered. 

“Are you done ignoring me or do I have to try harder?” he asked, pulling her hand up to his lips and pressing it gently against them. 

“I thought you were good at being ignored?” she said with a raised eyebrow. “You once told me you were the best at it.”

He smiled, “I’ll make you a bet? I bet I can get you to kiss me by the end of tonight. If I win, you agree to be my girlfriend. And if you win, I’ll fuck off.”

“That’s not how that’s supposed to go, Neal,” she reminded him, “If _you_ win, I’ll agree to be your _girlfriend_ , and if _I_ win, you’ll agree to be my _boyfriend_.”

“Well if you insist,” he laughed as she stood on her tiptoes, clutching her new bear and pressed her lips against his, feeling his hands drift to her waist as he nervously kissed her back.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: A Very Nice Prince (Reprise)

_ “I have no experience with princes, and castles, and gowns.” _

_ “Nonsense, every girl dreams!” _

**Chapter Thirteen: A Very Nice Prince (Reprise)**

Neal didn’t know that first thing about being a good boyfriend.

He’d never done it before.

But he was actually pretty excited to try. 

And he had worried, or at least his friends had told him to worry, about dating a girl with a kid. But Henry actually made things easier, in Neal’s opinion.

Emma couldn’t go as many places as her peers, but that was fine. Neal didn’t really like going places. He liked sitting on the couch with his sketchbook, drawing the two of them as Emma attempted to feed her fussy toddler. He liked watching TV with his arm around her and Henry sitting in their laps playing with a toy. He liked teaching her to play his video games, putting the extra large headset and mic on Henry and watching the boy’s eyes light up with excitement as noises came from out of nowhere. 

In fact, he got away with a lot more because of Henry. No one asked questions when he wanted to bring his girlfriend to his room, because she was also carrying her little brother with her and as much of a degenerate as his father thought he was, he knew Neal would never do anything inappropriate when Henry was there. So they hung out behind closed doors, stayed out later than they were technically supposed to, took walks in the park and ate way too much food.

Neal really liked his girlfriend. And he really liked her kid too. 

So it wasn’t as hard as he had thought it would be.

And having Henry around had taken some of the pressure off of Neal too, because the kid was always around and that left very little time for them to be alone. Which some guys might have complained about, but not Neal. 

And sure, they’d made out a few times on her parent’s couch after she’d put Henry to bed, and one time, in the prop closet after play practice, she had- well it didn’t matter, because things were moving at a pace that Neal really liked and so Henry was his key to keeping things slow.

And it’s not like they hadn’t talked about it. 

“You think we could do more in here?” she had asked, swinging her feet back and forth from her perch on the shelf in the prop closet as Neal redid his belt.

“I wouldn’t mind stopping by more often,” he had laughed, pulling her close to him with a kiss, “Maybe next time you can be the one-”

“No, Neal, not more often. _More_.”

And the word had felt heavy between them, but Emma always seemed to know when people were lying, so he had been honest with her. Mostly. Because telling a half truth wasn’t lying.

“Honestly, Em, I’m worried I’d drop you. It's kind of standing-room-only in here”

And that had been the end of that conversation. 

It had come up again one night as she and Henry helped him put down drop cloths in Gideon’s nursery to prepare for the constellations he had agreed to paint for his nonexistent half-brother. Well, he put down the drop cloths. She played with his paintbrushes and Henry went around peeling the drop cloths back and trying to put them in his mouth until one of them would grab him and redirect his attention with his bear. 

“You know Marian and Robin are sleeping together,” she had said, absentmindedly.

Well, Marian and Robin had known each other their whole lives and been dating for over a year. So yeah, that made sense.

“No, I didn’t know that,” Neal offered. “But my friend Felix just asked his girlfriend to marry him, so it’s not that weird that people our age are…”

He trailed off as she smirked at him, making an obscene gesture with one of the paint brushes.

“Yeah, that,” he said with what he hoped was a confident - possibly sexy - smile. “I mean my mom was only twenty when she had me, so that’s like three years away?”

Two for Emma who was five months older than him. He didn’t like that, but what could you do?

“Do you think we should be?” she asked, and though she was trying to sound cute and uninterested he knew the answer she was looking for. 

“I think when the time is right, we’ll know,” He answered, hoping that was true enough to not set off her lie detector. “We have a lot more stacked against us, practicality speaking, than any of them.”

Her eyes drifted to Henry and he thought that maybe she looked a little sad. 

He leaned forward, taking her hands in his and smiling encouragingly at her. 

“Em, if I for one second objected to things being complicated, I would tell you. But I’m okay with it. I like spending time with you and talking. Henry and all those complications are a part of you, and I love them just like I love you.”

They both paused.

That was a major problem.

That was way too fast.

And he couldn’t take it back. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” he hurried. “It slipped out and I won’t say it again.”

“Yeah,” she said, laughing uncomfortably for a moment. “Thank you for being my Prince Charming, Neal. You’re perfect. And you’re right, when it’s time, we’ll know.”

Which was a huge relief. But still, Neal wanted to be ready when it was time and so he bought a box of condoms from the store, uncomfortable, and completely unsure that this wouldn’t get back to his dad somehow in this small town filled with gossip, but absolutely positive it was the right thing to do.

And then he stashed them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, too much of a coward to even open the box. 

Because, when he didn’t have to worry about saying the right thing, when her lie detector wasn’t around and it was just him and the mirror, he knew the answer was a big N-O. 

But he liked things the way they were and he didn’t want to rock the boat, and so they continued to hold hands during play practice and steal kisses in her car and eventually she started staying for their awkward family dinners, when he wasn’t staying for the cheerful ones at her house. 

Then, one day out-of-the-blue, Emma missed play practice. And Lead Actors didn't get days off. And it set off so many terrifying alarm bells in Neal’s head that he snuck out during one of the scene rehearsals to call her. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked tentatively, unsure if he could handle it, if it wasn’t. Neal was a lot more fragile than he pretended to be, and he got especially nervous when the women he loved - it was still probably too soon, but there was no harm in using the word in his head - stopped showing up to places they were supposed to be. Without calling.

“Yeah,” she assured him, though she sounded distracted. “Henry’s got a fever, the doctor says he’s fine, but I need to stay with him and watch to make sure it doesn’t spike.”

“Oh,” he said, because that sounded really serious to him and he wasn’t sure why she was being so casual about it. “Do you need me to come over? Should I bring you guys anything?”

She chuckled, happily on the other end of the phone and he was relieved that he could make her smile at least. “No, babe, we’re fine. Now shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?”

And so he’d hung up and headed back inside where Belle had shot him a sideways glare and then continued on directing the current scene. He had thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t.

“Neal, you know I like Emma right?” she asked on the drive home, and he nodded because who wouldn’t like Emma?

“And I’m really glad you’re happy, and your father is too, but we’re wondering if you’ve put any thought into some of your other options?”

 _They_ were wondering? Or _she_ was wondering? Neal doubted his dad spent much of his free time wondering about Neal. Except maybe to ponder questions like ‘Is he alive, still?’ and ‘How much is his bullshit going to cost me today?’.

“What other options?’ he asked stupidly. Cause he really didn’t want to date anyone but Emma.

“Well, I know you missed the deadline for college applications this year, but you could start applying this spring and maybe go somewhere fun. You might want to start thinking about jobs too, what field you want to go into, where those jobs are located. You know, just other options.”

“Being with Emma doesn’t stop me from doing those things,” he said. Though the truth was he hadn’t thought of those things. He had never really planned to go to college, his mom hadn’t - his dad either, until Neal was about five - and as far as jobs go he always figured he would have to be a take-what-you-can-get kind of guy. 

“I just want you to keep your future open, Neal. You’re a bright boy, and you’ve got a lot of options right now. And this is nothing against Emma, but dating a single mother can be… limiting.”

His eyes opened wide. “You know?”

“Yeah,” Belle sighed as she pulled into the driveway. “I’m her teacher, Neal. Of course I know.”

“Does pop know?”

She laughed, “Do you think he’s stupid? Or just not paying attention?”

“And you’re both okay with that?”

She sighed. “It’s complicated. We both have mixed feelings about it. And we don’t always agree with each other about those feelings from day to day. But we think the most important thing is that you’re happy and that you just don’t let this stop you from having the best future you can.”

“Emma’s really smart too. And it’s early to be talking about a future, but I don’t see why I can't do all those things and be with Emma.”

“I’m not saying you can’t Neal, just that it will be hard, and I want you to be ready for that. I want to make sure you've at least thought about it."

He hadn't, but he nodded anyways. "Maybe it will be, but it will work out."

"Emma isn’t going to college. You know that, right? She’s going to have to stay here next year and get a job. It’s a shame because her admissions essay was beautiful, but between the money and the time commitment she just can’t do it.”

“So? I can still go to college. She can come with me. Or we can do long-distance. I don’t know, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“And money is going to be an issue, always, Neal. And your father and I are happy to help, your dad has been saving up a fund for you for a long time, but wouldn’t it be nice to be able to have things you want instead of always focusing on things you need? Like a car? Or that nice computer you wanted? With Emma, those paychecks are always going to have to go to something more practical.”

“I don’t need a car,” he said, biting his lip, because no he hadn’t thought about that, either. 

“And what about a family, Neal? Do you want a family?”

He stared at her blankly. He didn’t know. These were all really big questions and he’d only been dating Emma such a short amount of time. And it was getting to be a little much for him.

“Because this is a very traumatic thing she’s been through, Neal. And she’s handling it better than most, I will admit, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to color her perception of motherhood. And she might not want a family for a very long time. She might not want one ever. Have you thought of that?”

No. He hadn’t.

But so what? They were big questions, sure, but they weren’t relevant now. They were questions that given more time, he and Emma could tackle together. 

“I just think it’s a really cool thing she’s doing,” he mumbled, staring out the windshield and hoping he wouldn’t cry.

“I do too,” Belle offered with a sigh. “It’s really cool that she wants her son so much. And that she’s willing to give up everything to be with him.”

And so they were both a little teary-eyed as they walked into the house, and his dad got up off the couch, because he always got up to greet Belle when she arrived home.

And he wrapped her in a hug as she cried into his shoulder, shooting a sideways glance at Neal, who was biting his own lip to keep his tears under control.

“What happened?”

Neal shrugged.

“Nothing,” Belle said, shaking her head. “It’s just these damn pregnancy hormones.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen : It Takes Two

_ “What needs to be done you can do, when there's two of you. If I dare, it's because I'm becoming aware of us, as a pair of us, each accepting a share.” _

**Chapter Fourteen : It Takes Two**

Neal was blossoming in front of Emma’s eyes.

And that scared her, because things were so good, and she didn’t trust it. 

He passed his driver’s ed test and took her and Henry out for ice cream - in her car, because his parents were not okay with him borrowing theirs - and the three of them sang along to the radio on the drive home.

With his Sundays now free, he had started taking her and Henry out for breakfast, and then helping Mrs. Gold with putting together the sets, because the play was growing nearer every day and none of the drama kids knew how to work an electric drill. But Neal sure did. And on days when Snow was willing to babysit, sometimes he would show her how. She liked hopping up and down on the things he built to prove to Mrs. Gold that they were sturdy enough to hold the rest of the actors. And she suspected, though he was surprisingly tight-lipped about that kind of stuff, that he liked watching her bounce up and down too. 

He also started painting his little brother’s nursery and Emma was impressed by the scale the project took on. What had started as a ceiling full of stars turned into a room filled with the heavens, a golden sunrise along one wall, fading into the night sky of the ceiling and then fading back into a rosy sunset on the opposite wall. And so she’d sit and hand him paintbrushes while Henry finger-painted and occasionally his parents checked in and though he didn’t seem to notice, it made her a little bit jealous of how much pride for him they both had in their eyes when they would stand in the doorway and watch him work on his masterpiece. She thought about asking him to do something like that for Henry, she knew he would have agreed, but she also wasn’t sure how long Henry would get to appreciate it because she was eighteen now and the Blanchards charity could only last for so long. They had already been handing her brochures for apartments to look at for after graduation.

But maybe, if Neal was still around after graduation, he could paint something like this in her new apartment. She’d let him cover all the walls in murals if it kept him smiling like this.

Because every day Emma worried more and more about him leaving. It was always there in the back of her mind, that December deadline, when he would leave town and she’d never hear from him again because two hours was a long way to drive when you had school and a baby and a boyfriend with no car. 

Because Neal was thriving, and she was staying stagnant.

“Do you spend Christmas with the Blanchards?” he asked her one day as she was washing paint off her son, and a little bit off her boyfriend too, after a long day of watching him work on the sets. 

And because she was trying to be more open, trying to share more, she answered him honestly, “I did last year. But it’s always because I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t think I’ve really celebrated Christmas since Ingrid died.”

He knew about Ingrid. Because he had started joining her and Snow and Henry on her Friday trips to visit her old foster mother’s grave. He’d even bring his own flowers sometimes and though he never had any better words to say than Emma, he stood by her side and held Henry when she couldn’t and it was really nice having him there.

“Well, if you wanted to, this year you could come out and celebrate with me. Meet my mom?”

And that was a big deal, meeting his mom, because he talked about her constantly and Neal thought the world of her and her opinion. Emma didn’t much like the sound of a woman who flew off to Vegas at a moment's notice without worrying about her five-year-old, but she kept that opinion to herself, and she could tell when he brought it up in front of his dad and Mrs. Gold that she wasn’t the only one keeping her opinions to herself.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know his parents here, but that was because she kind of had to. And also because she had known Mrs. Gold before she’d met Neal. And she’d sort of met his dad by accident the night of the dance. But meeting his mom, that was a very big deal.

“You don’t have to,” he backtracked, handing her a towel to dry off Henry with, “I know it’s a long drive, and who wants to spend Christmas in a trailer park but-”

“I’d love to.”

“Really?”

No, not really, but that had nothing to do with the drive. Or the location. Or him. 

She nodded yes, planting a kiss on his cheek.

But she worried, would Christmas be their last day together?

She tried bringing it up with Neal, this nagging feeling that the journey was going to be rough, but in his new chipper state he would wave her concerns away like they were nothing. This was going to work out, and no he didn’t have all the answers, but she could trust him when he said that he would make things work. That he would make sure that making things work wasn’t an inconvenience to her.

The old Emma would have laughed, because that much optimism shoved inside one very open-hearted individual was foolish and unlikely to work out. But the new Emma, the Emma that really wanted to grow and change with Neal, believed him because he didn’t lie to her and he didn’t let her down. So if he believed it would work, she didn’t have to believe in the charity of the universe, she could just believe in him. And that was enough. 

Did it bother her that she sometimes felt like he wasn’t interested in her physically? Sure. But that was on her. She had a lot of insecurities about that. Being a teen mom will do that to a person. So she made herself be patient with Neal because he was always so patient with her and Henry in every other regard. 

He was learning to change diapers, and how to clean baby vomit out of clothes before it stained, and he’d sit with her whenever it was time to feed or bathe Henry, for moral support. He said it would make good practice for when his brother came along, because even if he wouldn’t be living with Gideon, he would still probably stop by to say ‘hi’ when he came to visit her. 

And she liked that the two of them were moving out of survival mode, not just in their relationship, but in their lives. They could both take a deep breath and push past all that unfun stuff with his parents - because Emma refused to blame it all on his dad like Neal did - or her own issues, and just dare to be two kids falling in love.

And so if he said they would get past the hardships they had ahead, then Emma would try her hardest to push past those hardships with him.

That first test of hardship came on a Thursday night, sitting on the couch watching one of her favorite cop shows with her in Neal’s lap, and Henry in hers. And it was comfortable and domestic, and she wondered if she got her own apartment at the end of this year, would it be crazy to ask him to move in with her? Then he wouldn’t have to be two hours away, but he wouldn’t have to be with his dad either, and wasn’t that the perfect solution? Of course, he would have to be okay with sleeping with her, if that were the case, but maybe by then he’d finally feel like it was ‘the right moment’ or whatever.

And then his phone rang, startling them both out of the plot of the show, Emma waiting carefully as he picked up the screen to look at the number.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said, sliding her off his lap and jumping off the couch to rush into the hall.

“Hey!” he said, so excited Emma could hardly believe it. She was a little jealous. Who was he talking to on the phone that could elicit such a joyous reaction from her already overly cheerful boyfriend?

“I’m great! How are you?”

He turned, pacing back and forth across the little hallway, biting his lip as he smiled around his teeth, running his free hand anxiously back and forth through his hair. 

He listened for a long time, nodding along and smiling and Emma felt her jealousy build.

“I would love that!”

Henry began to whimper and she bounced him on her knee, shushing him so she could hear the conversation, that seemed decidedly lacking on Neal’s end, still going on in the hallway. 

“Oh, okay,” he mumbled. Emma was shocked by the sudden shift in his mood. From complete elation to utter despair.

“Mom, that’s still like a week away - No, I know, but - okay, I get it. I’ll see you at Christmas.”

There was a pause.

“January?”

Shit. Emma brought her hand up to rub at her eyes because, oh my god, this was not good. He was nodding and frowning and standing perfectly still, his happy pacing stopped.

“Yeah, no, that’s fine. That's fine. I’ll see you in January. Bye, mom. I love you.”

“Hey, is everything okay?” she asked as he walked back into the room, his head hung and his shoulders slouched.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting down next to her. But his voice was hoarse and she knew that tone, so she kissed at his shoulder while he bit back sniffles and tried really hard to look like a man. But it was no good. Emma knew what a boy looked like when he cried because he wanted his mother. And so she put Henry in his playpen on the floor, and she wrapped Neal in her arms and rocked him back and forth, pretending not to notice the tears, until he cried himself to sleep. And then, because she didn’t want him to get in trouble, she called Mrs. Gold.

“Emma, sweetie, is everything okay?” her teacher’s voice poured through the phone, panic clearly there just around the edges.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I was wondering if Neal could stay here tonight. My foster parents are home, and he’s going to sleep on the couch. He just… Well he’s already asleep on the couch… and I don’t want to wake him because… Well, I think he just got some bad news.”

There was a very long pause, and then, “I’ll put his dad on the phone.”

And then she was repeating her question, and all the accompanying information to Neal’s dad, who was a lot quieter than his wife.

“She finally called him, didn’t she?” he asked, when Emma was all done. 

“Yeah,” Emma said with a sigh, cause there was no use pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. “She’s not going to be home until January now.”

“Of course she isn’t.”

“So can Neal stay or do I need to wake him up?”

There was a noise on the other end of the phone, not so much a sigh as a little huff of air. “If your parents don’t mind my son crashing on their couch, I think it’s probably best you let him sleep, dearie.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Second Midnight

_ “Near may be better than far, but it still isn't there.” _

**Chapter Fifteen: Second Midnight**

When Belle announced that she was making the Friday and Saturday play practices optional over the long weekend, Neal knew he had found some wiggle room.

Of course, she had meant that they were optional for people who were going out of town, and Neal was still expected to be there because she knew he was pretty much stuck there in Storybrooke with them, but Neal really wanted to go out of town.

And so he had begged and pleaded and promised, he had washed their cars - poorly, but still - and raked the garden out back, even remembering to bag the leaves and put them on the curb for collection day. And Belle had put her foot down because Neal had already proved that he couldn’t be trusted, going back there by himself. 

And he had told her that he wouldn’t be by himself, he was bringing Emma. And they wouldn’t be out past midnight, if she gave him play practice off he could make sure they were back in plenty of time. And she and his father still had the keys to his mom’s trailer, so it wasn’t like they could sneak back there. He was asking for just a little bit of trust. And given how hard he had been working lately he didn’t think that was completely out of the question. Just one day-trip. 

In the end he had finally had to appeal to his father.

“Belle thinks it’s a bad idea,” his dad had said over coffee, reading his paper and once again avoiding eye contact. 

“Yeah, but she’s not my parent, is she?” Neal said, poking just a little bit at the edges of his dad’s pride, “It’s really your call.”

And he didn’t want to bring up Christmas, because they had all silently but unanimously agreed not to bring up Christmas, but really they kind of owed him this. Because he had handled that letdown with a lot more grace than even Neal had thought possible. And if he was being honest, he was a little relieved because January gave him one more month to figure things out with Emma.

“You’ll be home by midnight?” his father asked, setting the paper down and giving Neal a long, hard stare. Sometimes when he did that Neal wondered what his father was seeing. 

“I’ll be home by midnight,” he promised, grinning because he knew he had won.

And so he called Emma and they made plans. They’d leave early in the morning, be there in time for breakfast with his friends. They’d stay for lunch and dinner, and then they’d leave around eight because he wanted to make sure he gave them plenty of time to get back, in case of traffic or a flat tire or any of the other little curve balls life could try and throw at him. Because he was ready for those curve balls.

It had been a little bit of a letdown when she’d told him she couldn’t bring Henry. That he didn’t do well with long car rides and she didn’t want to overwhelm him with such a busy day. Neal understood, but it was still a letdown. Because if Henry didn’t do well with the long car rides, it meant that once he moved back out there in January he probably wouldn’t get to see much of Henry. And that thought upset him a little more than it probably should have.

But Friday morning Emma dropped Henry off at daycare, arranging for the nanny to pick him up when it closed, and the Blanchards had agreed to watch him from five to midnight when the nanny needed to be relieved. It was kind of impressive, leaning against the hood of her car, watching her arrange all those schedules with ease. With his can-do attitude and her competent practicality, there was nothing the two of them couldn’t do. 

And he was really happy to introduce her to his friends, for real this time. Because he didn’t really remember last time. And Wendy was there, sitting on Felix’s lap and showing off her new ring. Neal was proud of Felix, it was definitely not a real diamond, and probably not real gold either, but it was a nice ring and Wendy loved it. His friend had done good. 

They showed Emma off around the tiny little community that Neal had grown up in, taking her for breakfast at the IHOP by the interstate exit, and then out to the woods where the three of them showed Emma and Wendy how to fire a crossbow, putting up different targets and laughing as they missed wildly. And okay, it was probably a good thing they had left Henry at home for that. And then they had shown her the river where they all went kayaking in the spring, swimming in the summer, walking along the banks and sharing memories of their Lost Boy childhood.

“You should have seen the three of them,” Wendy laughed, clutching Felix’s hand, “One of them was always bloody, it didn't matter when and where you saw them. Skinned knees, bloody noses, Neal had to get stitches quiet a few times. They were a mess. And I swear they were allergic to haircuts! If you think Neal’s hair is long now, you should have seen it during his preteen years, he had this whole emo-fringe thing going on. It was awful!”

And then they’d taken her out to lunch at the general store where they had picked out sandwiches and Neal bought her an ice cream the way his mom had always bought him one when they came here for groceries.

Their day ended at Peter’s place, on the nice deck that his parents had paid someone to build, drinking beers out of the bottle because Peter’s dad wasn’t a ‘can man’. Wendy sat draped across Felix’s lap, picking at the loose threads in her skirt, Emma resting on Neal’s knee, as Peter spread out across the bench around the little fire they were tossing twigs into and using to keep them from feeling just how cold the weather was getting. 

“So, Neal, you looking forward to being a big brother? You’re what, one month out now? Two?” Wendy asked.

“Six weeks,” He said, proudly. “And yeah, I guess it’ll be nice to meet the little guy.”

Because he liked Henry, and how much different could two babies be?

“You should see his room,” Emma joined in, “Neal’s painting the whole thing and it’s like walking into a Disney movie.”

“Yeah,” he added, “I’m actually a little jealous, this guy is so loved. Like, Belle’s had his name picked out since she found out it was a boy, and she’s already stockpiling enough clothes and toys to last him until he’s ten. Very different from my experience.”

And he had just meant that he had gone without a lot as a kid. Not because his mom didn’t love him, it was just that they hadn’t had much, and she could only give what they had. 

But Wendy took it differently.

“Yeah, but it’s nothing against you Neal. It’s just that you can’t really love someone else’s child the way you love your own. I’m sure Belle likes you, you’re just not  _ hers _ , you know?”

And he felt Emma tense up in his lap, Felix and Peter exchanging nervous looks because they had forgotten to tell Wendy.

“I meant…” Neal stuttered, not liking the way his girlfriend had shrunk back against him as if to make herself smaller, “I just meant I wish my mom had spent more time picking out a better name. Maybe if she’d started thinking about it sooner she could have come up with something better than Baelfire.”

And they laughed, but when Wendy opened her mouth to speak again, Peter cut her off, “Let’s change the subject.”

“Okay,” she said, turning to Felix and nudging him playfully in the ribs, “Emma, we’ve all been dying to know: the first time you guys… you know, did Neal cry?”

And they all laughed at his expense, which was fine, because Emma was laughing too, as she turned to him with a smirk, “Why would you have cried?”

“I cry a lot,” he offered, “They all make fun of me for it.”

“So he didn’t cry!” Wendy cheered, “I’m going to get more drinks, Emma, want to come with?”

Neal watched the two of them go, chatting like old friends and he couldn’t suppress his sideways smile. Because when his mom came back, Emma was going to fit right in. And it was going to be okay. 

“Way to go,” Felix said, punching him in the shoulder, “You hear that Peter? Our boy held it together!”

“Shut up, Felix,” Peter said with an eye roll. “You think if Neal popped his cherry he wouldn’t tell us about it three seconds later? You're an idiot, man. But congrats Neal, cause that’s a good girl you have there, not ratting you out in front of your friends. Hold on to her.”

And Neal planned to. So they climbed into the car a little before eight so that they could still be home on time and his dad and stepmom wouldn’t ground him into never being able to see her again.

But as they buckled their seat belts, she turned to him, biting her lip and trying to hide the nerves that were clearly visible.

“Neal?”

“Yeah, baby?” he mumbled, checking his mirrors because she was always so obsessive about that and it was her car so he probably should be too. 

“What Wendy said back there -”

Of course they were going to talk about it. Why had he ever thought they could get away with not talking about it?

“Wendy was wrong,” he assured her, still fussing with the mirrors because he didn’t want to give this train of thought any more attention than he needed to. “She’s a sweet girl, but she’s always been a little spoiled and she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And no, Belle doesn’t love me as much as Gideon, but that’s not because I’m not hers. It’s because I met her when I was fourteen and we’re practically the same age so it would be weird if she thought of me as her son. That has nothing to do with us. And it has nothing to do with Henry, okay?”

She nodded, turning to look back out the window, thinking quietly to herself before regaining some of her cheer, “Neal?”

“Yeah, baby?” he said, turning to her this time, because he really wanted to start driving but he couldn’t drive and keep her calm at the same time and so she had to be a priority now so the other could be a priority later. 

“Was she wrong about the other thing too? Or are you going to cry?”

“Oh for sure, I will definitely cry,” he laughed. “Get ready for that, cause it’s coming.”

“Really?” she asked in that dry little sarcastic voice that made him feel like he was doing something right. Because if he could make her use that tone it meant he was well on his way to making her laugh. 

“Oh, yeah,” he said, starting the car, “I’m an emotional mess. So I’ll probably cry and then tell you weird stories about my childhood, and then cry some more. I might even bring up my parents. It’s gonna be super romantic.”

She smiled, jackpot, that had been what he was looking for, and now he could focus on driving them back.

But her hand came down to rest lightly on his knee.

“You know we’re doing really good on time,” she started. He raised an eyebrow, cause yeah, they were, he had made sure of that. “We could stop by your mom’s place while we’re out here. Just for an hour? If you’re feeling up for it?”

He had to be very careful lying to Emma, because she could always tell. But that meant that he had gotten really good at figuring out ways to skirt the truth, because Neal Cassidy was a problem solver. So he shook his head sadly and just said, “We can’t. My stepmom has the keys.”

And so it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth either. Because Neal and his mother were really bad about losing keys. And Neal was really good at jimmying locks. And every single one of the trailer’s windows popped out of the frames quickly and easily enough to climb through. So, had he been ‘feeling up for it’ as she put it, they could have found a solution. 

But they  _ were _ doing good on time, so they climbed into the back seat of the Bug to fool around as best they could, because two teenagers and a car seat was a lot to try and fit into the back of a Bug. And Neal continued to carefully lie to her, mislead really, as her hands explored places he rather enjoyed despite his misgivings about the situation. 

She slid her hands under his shirt, tugging at the neck, and he pointed out that it was a public space and people could technically still see them if they were inclined to walk up to the parked car. So he got to keep his shirt on.

She climbed on top of his lap and he put a hand on the back of her head and warned her very carefully that the space was tight and if she moved too much she was going to get hurt. So she stopped creating so much tempting friction.

And finally, as she started playing with his belt buckle and then his zipper, and admittedly he let her continue that for much longer than he should have, he pointed out, somewhat awkwardly that that was a bad idea because… god, if he was too embarrassed to even talk to her about it then it certainly wasn’t right, was it?

“I don’t want to make a mess,” he finally offered lamely, as she leaned back, watching him with amusement. And it wasn’t anger, so that was a good thing.

“So you’re worried about Henry’s car seat, but not about your stepmom’s prop closet?”

And he didn't have an answer for that, so he silenced her light teasing with another kiss, pulling her against him so that she knew it wasn’t about her. So that she could feel in her heart, and probably against her thigh too, that he wanted her and was attracted to her, and this wasn’t like the dance at all. 

Except that it was - because it just wasn't the right place and time.

But she didn’t seem mad at him, she just climbed back into the front seat of the car, playing with the radio while Neal took a few deep, calming breaths, fixing his jeans and belt before following her back up to the front seat and turning on the GPS.

Shit.

They’d lost track of time and the brightly lit blue box at the bottom said they were going to be arriving at her house around 11:45. Which would not be enough time for him to walk home before midnight, even if he sprinted the entire way, which he wouldn’t, because let’s be honest, Neal wasn’t a runner.

But there was nothing he could do about it now.

So when they arrived at her house he gave her a quick kiss goodbye, telling her to say ‘hi’ to Henry for him, and then he started preparing his speech on the walk home. They had gotten a flat tire and he’d had to change it. That was an easy enough one. Yeah, he’d hit a pothole while driving and one of her tires had burst and he’d had to change it. Why were his hands so clean? Well they’d stopped in a gas station to buy a patch kit for her original tire and he’d had the time to wash his hands there. And what money had they used to purchase this patch kit? Why, Emma’s of course. It was the perfect lie. They’d have to believe it. It was going to be fine.

He opened the front door, ready to defend himself, at 12:05. And they were both waiting up, because of course they were both waiting up, but they weren’t glaring angrily at the door for once. The TV was on and Belle was stretched out on the couch, her round belly poking up into the air, while his father rubbed her feet in his lap. 

He watched his dad look up at the clock and then over at him, knowing he was never going to be allowed out of the house again.

“Congratulations, son, you’re only marginally late,” he said, before turning back to the TV. 

And Neal smiled, because in a weird way, his dad was proud of him. Yeah, he’d fucked up, he wasn’t the perfect son yet, but he was getting better and his dad was acknowledging that.

He turned to walk down the little hallway back to his room when he heard Belle call after him. “Neal, honey, you aren’t going to tell us about your day?”

And a couple months ago that question would have irked him. But instead he found himself flopping down in one of the comfy armchairs around the little TV and telling them all about their drive, and how bad Emma was at shooting a crossbow, and how happy he was for Felix and Wendy. 

And they listened and asked questions.

Like a family.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Stay With Me

“ _Stay with me. The world is dark and wild. Stay a child while you can be a child. With me_.”

**Chapter Sixteen: Stay With Me**

When Emma first found out she was having Henry, it had not been a happy moment. In fact, most of Emma’s life after Ingrid had not been happy moments. And she had spent nine months debating and on the fence, trying to decide what to do because she was only a child herself and that really didn’t feel fair to her son, to be raised by a child. She had put a lot of thought int the decision, the first time in her life she had ever really put thought into anything, and she had decided she was going to give him up. She was going to give him his best shot.

And when he was born she had been adamant she wasn’t going to look at him. 

But he cried so much and in the end she was forced to peek. 

Despite having never liked babies much, Emma had seen her son for the first time and everything about anything she thought she knew had changed. 

So when he wouldn’t stop crying, she brought him to her chest, laying him gently over her heart and he had calmed. And she had calmed. And from that moment on she knew that they needed each other.

She was his best shot. And he was hers.

So, on some level she could understand why Neal loved his mother so much. She didn’t agree with it, but she could understand how a woman so wild and unpredictable could be his calm in the storm. 

And as he would rant and rave about the freedoms she had given him, freedoms that his current set of parents had ripped away from him, Emma would listen and smile and try her best to stay out of a fight that wasn’t hers. Because one day Henry would have a girlfriend too, and she hoped that that girlfriend would be as forgiving of her as she was trying to be of Ms. Cassidy. But it was really hard.

“They’re just trying to protect their child,” she would tell him when he got in one of his fits about some previously unstated rule at his dad’s house.

“I’m not a child!” he would yell back.

And maybe that was true. Maybe Neal was only a few months shy of eighteen and really good at taking care of himself. He was handy and clever and independent, and she loved all those traits. And she still dreamed about asking him about an apartment, picturing the two of them playing house with little Henry.

So maybe Neal could be an adult if he wanted to.

But who the hell would want to?

Personally, Emma wished she had a dad who had instilled a strict twelve a.m. curfew. She wished she had a mother, step or not, that tried to gently remind her when she was being impulsive and irrational. Because Emma had always had to do those things for herself, and she was pretty bad at it.

And she wouldn’t trade Henry for a world full of riches and Prince Charmings, but she thought maybe if she had what Neal had, her life would have been a lot simpler.

So when Mrs. Blanchard kindly asked her over breakfast if she would like to invite Neal to come apartment hunting with her today, she had considered it.

But at the end of the day, that was stressful, and Neal really should get to be a kid these last few months that he could. Once she picked out one she liked she’d invite him to come take a look, she wanted to make sure he liked it enough too, in case one day there was a possibility of him moving in with them. But there was no need to overwhelm him with all this right now.

Or maybe she was just projecting. Because she was a little overwhelmed, and Neal probably would have been fine and found something good about every single apartment, but this was something she needed to do. For Her and Henry.

So once again, it was just her and Henry and sometimes Snow, touring the little apartments on the outskirts of Storybrooke.

This one was too expensive.

And that one was only one bedroom.

And this one smelled like cigarettes.

And that one had neighbors that made Emma worried to walk around without the landlord.

“This one is cute,” Snow offered as they stepped into their fifth apartment of the day. “Look, the bedrooms have carpet!”

It was nice. And it was only seven hundred a month. She hadn’t started looking for jobs yet. She had promised to start in January after the play, but there were only so many things to put on a resume when she’d only had a consistent mailing address for a few years. But she had done the math, and assuming she got a job that paid minimum wage, and assuming she worked all the hours that Henry was in daycare - which fortunately the community outreach and assistance program in Storybrooke would continue to pay for until she turned twenty-one - she could be pulling in enough to swing up to nine hundred in rent. It would be a tight squeeze, and she would rather not go that high if she didn’t have to, but she was willing to cut some corners of her budget if it meant she and Henry had a safe place to stay.

She walked into the kitchen, bouncing Henry and asking him what he thought as Snow explored the back bedrooms. And he giggled and so that was a vote of confidence, right?

Above the sink there was a little window made out of two white pillars with a view into the living room, and it reminded her of Neal’s trailer. He would like that. She could picture him washing the dishes while she chased a toddling Henry around the living room, yelling out jokes and words of encouragement to them both. Which made her like the place even more.

But what if he didn’t stay?

What if he went back to live with his mom and the distance was too much and they didn’t make it. What if it was just her and Henry in this apartment alone and the only reason for the window would be so that she could make sure he didn’t hurt himself as he played in the living room alone while she cooked and cleaned and went back to the survival mode that the two of them had always had to live in.

What if, even worse, Neal hated the idea of living with her? What if he told her that moving in together after… it would be only ten months when it was time to move, would be insane? What if he broke up with her because once again she was moving too quickly. This was all still way off in the future, she was definitely getting ahead of herself, but everything with Neal was so good and so uncertain and she hated it.

Worst of all, what if he said no because she embarrassed him? Everything was fine when they could pretend Henry was her little brother, but in a couple months she’d be moving out here with him and people would know. And what if that was too much for Neal? What if he was ashamed of his girlfriend who had made a very permanent mistake? What if he didn’t want people assuming he was Henry’s dad, because what kind of idiot would want people thinking they were a teen father?

He had warned her up front that he wasn’t staying, had tried to keep his distance even, but she had pushed past all those boundaries - like she always did - and now look where that had gotten her.

She slid down the counters, burying her head in her hands as she clutched tightly to a confused Henry, crying in the middle of a stranger’s apartment.

“Emma?” she heard Snow ask, coming out of the back bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

And she didn’t really have a good answer, besides everything. 

So she cried as Snow pried an even more confused Henry out of her arms, and she cried while Snow explained to the landlord that they would just need a few minutes more if that was okay.

But Emma just couldn’t get herself together. She had cried more in the last couple months than she had the rest of her life, she thought. And she knew it was more about being eighteen now than it was about Neal, but it was an awfully big coincidence that made her think that relationships were just too needlessly complicated to bother with. 

She had always been okay with being alone. Always welcomed it. Now she hated how afraid that word made her.

And as minutes turned into lager chunks of time she started to worry that Mary Margaret hadn’t come back and might actually be waiting in the car for her to get it together. But she just couldn’t. Because she was a mess, and she just wanted to go back to being seventeen when none of this mattered.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

She looked up and there he was, striding across the little apartment to sit down next to her on the floor, wrapping his arms around her and tangling his fingers in her hair. 

“I want to be a kid forever,” she moaned into his shoulder, soaking the collar of one of the nice shirts Mrs. Gold had gotten him. 

He chuckled, “You can’t Emma. And you shouldn’t want to be. There are so many fun things about being an adult. You’ll see, when you get this place - you are getting his place right? - you’ll see that it’s so much more freeing to take care of yourself.”

And for the first time in a long time, he set off her lie detector.

And that stopped her from crying, just long enough for him to help her to her feet and work some of that magic he had always had. 

“See, over here you could set up a little desk, that way when Henry is in school he’s got a place to learn. And look at this,” he said pointing to the little window in the kitchen, “This way you can be in different rooms and still talk to each other. So it’s cozy. And you’ve got two decent sized bedrooms back this way - I can paint them both if you like - flowers for you and bears for Henry?”

He was biting his lip, his brow furrowed in concern, like he was waiting for her to say or do something, but she didn't know what.

“Stay with me,” she blurted.

“Yeah, of course. I’m going to stay right here until you’re ready to leave. Mary Margaret took Henry home, she’ll come get us when we call. So we can stay right-”

“No stay with me,” she insisted. “Don’t go back to your mom’s. I can’t do this without you.”

He sighed, “Emma, I can’t do that. But I’ll visit.”

“Why?”

“Because my mom needs me. And I’m kind of intruding on my dad and Belle’s life right now.”

“I need you,” she stressed. “I know this is some dumb teenage thing and in a few years we’ll probably be over it and dating other people and we’ll laugh about how serious all this felt in the moment, but Neal, I need you. Right now, I need you.”

“And right now, I’m here,” he said, wrapping her in a hug.

“Neal? You have permission to lie to me. Tell me again why I’m going to love this apartment. And please, put yourself in it this time.”

He took one of those deep shaky breaths he always did when he knew something was a bad idea, letting go of her as he walked through the apartment, putting on a fake grin and mustering up some of the same enthusiasm he had when he had shown off his mom’s place.

“Over here,” he said, pointing to a corner by the balcony, “Is where we’ll put my record player. And After Henry’s gone to bed you and I will listen to the good stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow, asking for permission to keep going. When she didn’t stop him he continued on to another spot. “This is where we’ll put the dinner table. You’ll cook dinner, I’ll do the dishes, and Henry will take out the trash. We’ll eat here every night and talk about our day.”

She smiled a sad, little smile, pointing to the back bedroom. “Tell me about that room.”

And he mirrored her soft, sad smile as he stepped forward to take her shoulders in his hands again. “I’m going to paint you a wall of flowers. Every flower you can imagine. Yellows and reds and blues. And it still won’t be half as beautiful as you.”

“And?”

“And when we fall asleep at night, we’ll have only good dreams because we’ll be together and that’s all that matters.”

And she nodded, because it was going to be okay. And because as he was weaving his story, painting goals right in front of her eyes, he hadn’t lied once. So Emma knew. She knew that even if he didn’t think he was staying, there was a small part of him that wanted to.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: On The Steps Of The Palace

_ “It's your first big decision. The choice isn't easy to make. To arrive at a ball is exciting and all, once you're there, though, it's scary. And it's fun to deceive when you know you can leave, but you have to be wary. There's a lot that's at stake, but you've stalled long enough.” _

**Chapter Seventeen: On The Steps Of The Palace**

Neal sat on the front steps for a really long time. He was mad at himself, and he was mad at her, and he was just mad. And he wanted to kick things and break things and scream. 

Because she had tried to trap him. Or at least that’s how he felt, and it was easier to be mad at her for that then to accept that he had also said some very inappropriate things. And now as he went over every wrong thing that he had said, he was even angrier. Because he had been wrong. But she hadn’t been listening to him either. 

It had started out innocently enough, too. That was the sad part. It had been a good day. A great evening. And now, here he was, sitting on The Blanchards front steps knowing that eventually he would have to go home. And though he loathed the idea of having to face the Blanchards after what he’d said, he also loathed the idea of going home to his dad and Belle after what he’d done. Because if he was being completely honest, the only one who was going to have any sympathy for Neal was Neal. 

Emma had called him early that morning, her voice chipper on the phone as he pressed the device between his ear and his shoulder, finishing the second coat of paint on the black border of Gideon’s walls. 

“It’s our three month anniversary,” she said and he could practically hear her excitement through the phone.

“Is it?” Neal tried to do the math in his head. How long had he been here? As the play, and his mother’s return, neared he was running on fumes. He had always made fun of the public school kids and their restrictions and routines. Had made fun of their dumbed-down material and all the extracurriculars padding their resumes because their scores couldn’t speak for themselves. But he had been wrong. Seven hour school days were exhausting, and while the classes were easier, there were more of them and Neal had never been very good at time management. Right now, between school, and the play, and working in Gideon's room his days all seemed to blend together with little bright spots of Emma and Henry in-between. 

“Well, Snow reminded me this morning: It’s the three month anniversary of the day we met. Which is kind of the same thing.”

“Well then, happy kind of the same thing as a three month anniversary,” he said with a laugh.

“You want to come over for dinner tonight? To celebrate?”

And of course he did. He hadn’t really thought anything of it. He had, of course, been an idiot.

When he had arrived to an empty house, red flags had gone up, he wasn’t that dumb.

But Emma had explained that the Blanchards were out of town visiting family for the holiday weekend and they’d be back later tonight. And that made him feel a little better.

“Do they know that I’m here?” he asked a little uncomfortable as he’d kicked his boots off in the front hall to avoid tracking mud in.

“Yes, Neal. I told them that I didn’t want to go with them this morning because I was going to invite you over. They like you, and they trust you enough not to steal the good silver.”

“And they were okay with that?” he asked, because his dad and Belle would not have been. Even with Henry, they checked on Emma and Neal constantly. They let them close the door, usually because they had Henry with them, but Belle came to ask suspiciously simple questions every now and then. And then when she ran out of questions she’d send his dad, who would just open the door a crack, give them both a nod, and then leave again.

“Yes, Neal,” she laughed, “They’re okay with it. I’m already a teen mom, there’s not a lot worse that can happen at this point.”

Neal could think of a lot of things, but he didn’t bring them up because she had Henry in his highchair and was cutting up slices of pumpkin pie for the both of them. Because of course she’d made his favorite to celebrate their day. And Neal tried really hard to remember what Belle had said about his future, but his mind got caught up quickly in daydreams of the three of them, making pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving together in his little trailer. And he knew he needed to dream bigger than that - but small dreams were more attainable. 

Would the three of them making pumpkin pie in her apartment next year be a bigger dream? Because he wouldn’t have objected to that small upgrade.

They chatted over dinner, feeding Henry bites from their plates and laughing as he made an awful mess of himself. Neal had done the dishes, he was actually very good at doing dishes, while she changed Henry and then set up a card game in the family dining room. She explained they couldn’t play a board game because Henry would try to eat the pieces, and she hoped that was okay. And of course it was, because date nights without Henry just didn’t make sense to Neal anymore. 

They had a great time, and everything went smoothly and eventually Neal was able to calm down and relax in the big, empty home - he didn’t like how empty big houses felt, he had decided - until around nine o’ clock the strangest thing happened.

They had moved their card game to the floor so that Henry could crawl circles around them, keeping busy and happy, and when he got too far Emma would reach out and tug him back by the seat of his pants, or Neal would pick up his favorite stuffed bear and wave it around to entice him closer again. And it was one of these moments, with Emma up in the kitchen getting a glass of water, Neal waving the bear in front of Henry, that it happened.

Henry reached for the bear and jokingly, Neal pulled it backwards. Just a tad, a fraction of an inch, barely even noticeable. But like a light switch everything changed on Henry’s face and he threw himself backwards onto the floor, kicking his legs and screaming as Emma came running back into the room.

“I’m sorry,” Neal said, quickly trying to give the bear back to Henry, who clearly didn’t want it anymore. “I’m so sorry it was just a joke!”

He had never seen Henry cry like that. 

“Looks like someone is up past his bedtime,” she laughed, as if he hadn’t just traumatized her child. “Come on kid, let’s go get you ready for bed.”

Neal knew babies cried. He knew they threw fits. But Emma was always so good with Henry. She kept him calm and quiet wherever they went, a happy little bundle of joy bouncing on her hip or in her arms. And Neal had been alone with him for ten seconds and now he was crying. Why was she not mad at him?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, standing behind her over Henry’s crib and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I’m going to be an awful big brother.”

She leaned into him, pulling his arms around her waist as she smiled down at her son, “You’re not going to be the worst, Neal. You’re actually really good with him.”

“I am?” he asked, incredulous, as she spun around, planting a kiss on his cheek and taking his hands. Leading him out of the nursery with a sway of her hips.

_'Where are we going?'_ he wanted to ask. But he didn’t really want to know the answer. Because he already kind of knew the answer.

She dragged him into her room, shutting the door behind them as she walked over to the dresser to turn on the baby monitor.

And Neal stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, because what else was he supposed to do?

She smiled, walking back over to him, her hands wrapping around his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and though he liked that she was kissing him, that felt nice, he did not like very much where this situation was heading. 

He swallowed, because his throat felt really dry as she started to play with the buttons on his sweater, dragging him backwards toward the bed. 

“Emma,” he warned, “The Blanchards could be home any second.”

They could be caught, had she thought of that?

“Snow is going to call first,” she said, sliding the sweater off his shoulders and putting her hands under his t-shirt, her fingertips leaving little electric sparks across his chest as goosebumps spread over his skin. 

Okay, so she had thought of that.

“Emma, I’m leaving in January-”

“I know. I’m fine with that. This isn’t about January. It’s about now. And if things don’t work out between us, Neal, I’m not going to be mad at you for this.”

That was a really good answer. Wow, she was prepared.

“Henry-” he tried but she cut him off quickly.

“Is sleeping. And if anything happens, we’ll hear him. Relax.”

“Can he - I mean - Is the radio two ways?”

“He can’t hear us,” she said, silencing him with a quick kiss. “Anything else you want to ask, Cassidy?”

And he tried to think of something. Anything. But he was caught very unaware, and just a tad speechless. 

“You need a moment?” she asked, stepping away from him, sinking down onto her bed. And not in a sexy way, either, just sitting down, her hands clasped in her lap, watching him hopefully. And that was very sweet of her.

So he took the moment, stopping to take stock.

They were alone. And they didn’t get a chance to be alone often. 

And he really liked her. Was falling in love with her. Wanted her to meet his mother. Wanted her in his life even after he moved, even if that meant getting a job and buying a car. And she cared about him a lot too, enough to trust him with her secrets and her son.

And they’d given this time. It was going well. 

The place was right. 

The time was right.

All right, Neal, what do you want to do? Because the decision was his and she was waiting.

And it was his first big decision, first time having to make up his mind on something so huge, all on his own. 

Okay, let’s do this.

He lifted his shirt over his head, stepping forward, grabbing her face in his hands and pulling her into a kiss, hoping that his nervous breathing and frantic movement would be perceived as passionate.

And then she was kissing him back, tongues dancing together, as she pulled him backwards onto the bed, her hips pressing against his in an enticing rhythm as she ran fingers along his spine.

He was a little worried that he was crushing her, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her hands had slid down his back, under the waistband of his jeans and she was pulling him against her harder and faster and so he picked up the pace because clearly that’s what she wanted.

She wasn’t quiet about enjoying it, either. He liked that, the way she called his name as he nipped at her neck, moaning and swearing as her fingers tangled in his hair and he got up the confidence to lift her shirt over her head, kissing at exposed collarbones. 

And maybe he wasn’t so bad at this after all.

Maybe Felix was right and scary would turn to exciting pretty quickly after this moment. Because it was scary. But it was also exciting. 

Except for she kept… adjusting him… and it made him feel a little self-conscious. Like when he pushed his fingertips under her bra, caressing at the outline of her, she would move his hand to the center before biting at his lip and encouraging him to keep going.

And she kept shifting his hips, wrapping her legs around him and moving him ever so slightly. Because apparently, he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, but it was hard to tell through jeans and also, he didn’t really notice the difference between what felt natural to him and what she seemed to want. 

And then with shaking fingers, he went to unclasp her bra, but he couldn’t figure the damn thing out. There was not a lock on this planet he couldn’t pick, he was good with tools and his paintbrushes. He had dexterous hands, he knew, and yet the damn thing was a puzzle. And so she pushed herself up onto her elbows, forcing him off of her a little, and unhooked the thing for him. And that didn’t make him feel good at all.

But as she fell back onto the bed, completely topless and amazingly beautiful, his breath caught in his throat, taking in the angel in front of him. He’d seen pictures, of course he’d seen pictures, he was a guy with a great internet connection, but none of them did justice to how real the woman in front of him was, heavy breathing causing her chest to rise and fall in time with his heartbeat. Don’t get frustrated, Neal, he told himself, because this is about her, not your pride. 

And honestly, it was now or never. Best to get the hard part over with.

He felt his whole body humming with nervous energy, his heart about to explode out of his chest, but it wasn't fair to let her be vulnerable alone.

So he reached for his belt, managing to undo that so much faster than her bra. But she stopped him, setting one hand carefully over his, the other reaching into her nightstand. 

She held up a little foil packet and suddenly everything got incredibly real. He was sure he was making a dumb face, because she looked really confused.

Because he never had opened that damn box. And he didn’t exactly know how to put one on. And that was a stupid thing to be worried about, with everything else going on, but he suddenly felt very… inadequate. 

“Did you not think…” she trailed off, looking a little hurt, “Neal, you have to-”

“No, no, no,” he rushed to correct her, sitting back on his heels and trying really hard to control his racing heart. “It’s just… you’re not on the pill?”

She glared.

Of course not. Why would a teenage mother be on birth control? That would just be silly. 

“It’s just, Emma-” he tried to explain, but words were failing him. “Emma. Emma.”

He couldn’t stop saying her name. It was the only thing that made sense.

And that clearly confused the hell out of her. Because she sat up too, pulling her pillow to her chest as cover, looking at him with concern.

“Neal, babe, are you okay? Cause you’re kind of freaking out on me again.”

And how did he explain it to her? That he was terrified. And excited. But mostly terrified. 

“I don’t know how to put on a condom,” he finally confessed, feeling like a child. Like he definitely did not deserve to be here with her. 

She laughed. “Is that it? There’s instructions on the box, you dickhead. I’ll show you.”

And he didn't know why he did it, everything went wrong after that, but he was scared and he was anxious.

And he snapped.

“I don’t want you to teach me, Emma! I mean I know I’m going to have to learn how to take off your bra. And what you like, so you don’t have to keep moving my hand all the time. And I know that I need to learn these things. But I don’t want you to have to teach me!”

“What are you saying, Neal?” she asked, and he could hear her own temper rising to meet his. 

“I’m saying I’m sorry if I’m freaking out but this is a little intimidating, okay? You’re a little intimidating. And I don’t want you to have to correct me every step of the way.”

“I’m intimidating?” she said, her voice a little hurt. 

“Yes!”

“What is that supposed to mean? I scare you?”

“No, no, you don’t scare me. But I know that you’ve got more experience than me at all this and I don't want to let you down.”

And that was his second mistake of the night. Well, third if you counted the fact that he’d followed her to her room in the first place. 

“More experience?” she growled.

“Well, yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the confession he had been hoping to avoid. “Emma, you do have more experience than me. You have a baby and I’m a virgin.”

And now she looked pissed. 

Which was not how he thought she would take it, honestly.

Sad? Maybe. Disappointed? Definitely. Hell, he had even prepared for her to laugh at him. But not get mad. Why was she mad? He couldn’t help it. 

“So you think just because I have a baby, I have experience?” she said, clutching the pillow tighter to her chest, the tone of her voice so incredibly measured that Neal should have known to sense the danger underneath. 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I might be a virgin, but I do know where babies come from.”

“Get out,” she hissed.

What?

“Get out,” she said, smacking him with the pillow and he was just a little bit stunned by that because he wasn’t sure how they had gotten here but he would really have liked to rewind to about five minutes ago and do everything just a little bit differently.

“Emma-” he started, trying to calm her down but she hit him again with the pillow, causing him to fall off the bed when he leaned to get away from it. And then she was up and shoving him out the door and slamming it in his face. What the hell?

He waited a moment, his brain still trying to puzzle through everything that had happened so quickly.

“Emma,” he whispered, leaning against the door, “Please talk to me.”

The door was ripped open so quickly he almost fell inward, and she was standing there, fully dressed again and full of fury. “What do you want to talk about, Neal, how I’m such a slut?”

No. That wasn't what he had been trying to say at all.

“Yeah, let’s talk about that,” she hissed into his dumbfounded face, “Because you’re right, Neal. I do have more experience than you. I have three disappointing minutes and nine long months of embarrassment more experience than you. And that’s it. So thanks for bringing it up.”

And with that she was slamming the door in his face again.

He waited, quiet and stupid, because he didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Emma,” he whispered.

“Go home, Neal!”

“Emma, can I at least get my shirt?”

He heard the sound of something hard and heavy slamming against the other side of the door, causing the whole thing to vibrate in it’s frame. So that was a no. He tried the handle. It was locked.

Well, fuck.

So he sat on the steps outside her house until the cold became just a little too much for him to bear and then he walked home feeling so incredibly stupid and angry. At everything, most of all at her. For making him walk home like this. For always, always misinterpreting what he was trying to say. For trapping him in that situation in the first place.

And when he pulled open the door to his dad’s house, he knew they were going to have questions. Because who wouldn’t have fucking questions?

“Neal, sweetie?” Belle asked as he stepped inside, kicking off his shoes which he hadn’t even bothered to tie in the first place. “Where’s your shirt? It’s freezing outside.”

He was livid. Cause where did she think his shirt was? That he just ate it, or something? It wasn’t hard math, she was a teacher, she should be able to figure it out. He went over to his girlfriend's house with two shirts. He came back with none. Why was that even a question?

“Son, what’s wrong?” his father asked as Neal tried to sulk off to his bedroom to cry in private. Cause he had really fucked up and what if she never spoke to him again? “Bae, just tell us what’s wrong so we can help you.”

“It’s Neal! And what’s wrong is you keep pretending like you care,” he snapped, “That you keep acting like you love me and you want to help me when I have spent the last seventeen years of my life knowing for a fact that you don’t!”

And then he made it to his room, slamming the door so hard he felt the wall shake, locking it behind him so that Belle and her well-meaning prying wouldn’t be able to get to him this time.

And then the next morning, when she came to get him for school, he refused to open the door until eventually she had to go away or be late. 

January couldn’t get here fast enough.


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Careful, My Toe

_ “As the Prince anxiously waited, the stepmother took matters… into her own hands.” _

**Chapter Eighteen: Careful, My Toe**

Emma had every intention of trying to be civil the next day. Because honestly, she wasn’t sure what to expect. So she decided that her reaction would match his. If he was sorry, she would be too. If he was mad, then they would continue to fight. And if he wanted to end it, then she guessed that she’d be okay with that too. 

Because she had been so caught up in what he had said about her, that she had forgotten to listen to what he was saying about him. And that was important too. Because she was defensive. But he was afraid. And both were valid and fair emotions. 

So she would let him lead, because he wanted to lead. She would let him tell her what he wanted to do, because so far everything had been about what she wanted.

But, armed with an apology and his t-shirt and sweater folded nice and neatly, she arrived to play practice to find him missing. 

“Where’s Neal?” she asked her sister, who was standing with their friends at the front, waiting for Mrs. Gold to arrive. 

“He wasn’t in class today,” Killian said, “Trouble in paradise? Those virgin daiquiris not quite to your liking?”

“No, I just… he left his sweater at my place,” Emma babbled, because she hadn't even told Snow about last night. Too embarrassed by what Neal had said, and the way she had reacted, to tell. Not to mention she was hoping that, maybe, they could keep the ridiculousness of their fight quiet. The more people that knew, the bigger a problem it became. Words were hard to take back once they had been shared.

So after practice she approached Mrs. Gold with the folded shirts, offering them back to her. “Is Neal sick?”

“In the head?” her teacher mumbled, shoving the shirts into her bag with barely a sideways glance at Emma, “Actually, yes, he caught a bug. He was severely undressed for the weather yesterday.” 

Emma felt herself stiffen. Was Mrs. Gold about to yell at her?

But her teacher didn’t say anything else, she just finished packing her bag and left Emma standing there feeling a little silly.

So when Neal had returned to practice the following day, she had been prepared to follow wherever he would lead; but he seemed to just want to ignore her. He answered all her questions with one or two words, swore he was fine, but yanked his hand away every time she would reach for it. So eventually, she decided, if space was what he wanted, space is what she would give him. 

With two weeks until dress rehearsals started, Mrs. Gold had blocked off the next three days for costume measurements and fittings, to give them all time to gather the things they needed and get used to working in their costumes. Emma had to learn how to walk in her dress. Killian had to learn how to work the buttons on his jacket for the scenes where he took it off - he had wanted to remove his shirt as well, but Mrs. Gold had given him a firm ‘no’ to that request. August was learning not to rip the ridiculous itchy beard off during his scenes as The Baker’s Father and Neal was learning not to fidget with the many removable parts of his costume like hats and scarves and aprons. 

And so, with a theater full of a bunch of drama kids in various states of undress, Emma had to admit that the strange sort of flirty tension that had always been present increased by ten. Mary Margaret assured her this was normal right before a show like this. But it still felt weird to Emma. Particularly since the one person she wished would have an opinion about her standing in a camisole while Mrs. Gold measured her bust, was shockingly silent about the whole affair. 

“Stop fidgeting,” she would say, as she adjusted the measuring tape. Emma tried not to take her short tone personally, lately Mrs. Gold had been a little short with everyone, but it was hard when Emma knew that Mrs. Gold probably had plenty of reasons to be mad at her right now. “Emma, I swear if you move one more time I’m going to stick you with a pin. And if you get blood on this costume...”

And it got less subtle from.

“Ow! My toe!” Tamara screamed as Mrs. Gold tried shoving one of the stepsister’s shoes on her feet. Just like in the play, Emma thought. 

“Sorry,” Mrs. Gold apologized, removing the shoe and looking at it carefully. “Emma, sweetie, would you run and get me another pair out of the prop closet.”

Emma feigned ignorance. 

“Emma, I know you know where the prop closet is, go get me another pair.”

Emma paused. “I’m sorry, I just know that students aren’t supposed to be in there-”

“You’re not. But this time I’m asking you to be. So go get me the shoes.”

This time. Oh, God. 

And Mrs. Gold's short temper didn’t stop there. They ran Emma and Neal’s song from the end of the play a lot. And she critiqued it far less kindly then the others, her normal patience and encouragement replaced with a brash sort of honesty that Emma was unaccustomed to. 

“Neal! Stop touching yourself!” She would shout and he would yank his hands away from his third scarf, he had completely destroyed the other two with his anxious fidgeting, while the rest of the cast snickered. “And Emma, you need to make eye contact with Neal while you're singing together; if you look at the audience one more time I’m going to smack you with your script.”

“Sorry,” they would both mumble, and she would huff and make them run the song again. In fact one practice that was all they did. Neal, Emma, Ruby, and Robin standing on stage and going through that scene over and over and over again, while the rest of the cast watched. 

So finally, after a few days of Neal not talking to her, and Mrs. Gold’s temper growing shorter and shorter, she waited awkwardly after practice to get her teacher alone. Mrs. Gold was gathering up the girl’s costumes from the dressing room, shoes kicked off, as she clutched a phone to her shoulder.

“I’m not meddling, Rumple,” she said into the phone. “It’s just been a few comments here and there, it’s not like he listens to me anyway.”

Emma waited, watching her teacher continue to fold the dresses. 

“That’s stupid, and so are they,” Mrs. Gold continued. “Don’t laugh at me! I am too pregnant and too tired to put up with the Gold men and their fake macho crap this week.”

A pause as a smirk spread across her lips, “Oh, yeah? … Mhm, well that does sound nice. I’ll be home soon, love you.”

She turned, spying Emma in the doorway, a blush creeping across her face. “Emma, darling, I didn’t see you there.”

“Are you mad at me?” Emma finally worked up the courage to ask.

“No, why would you think that?” Mrs. Gold said, but her smile was fake and Emma could sense the tiniest hint of a lie.

“Because you’re like the world’s nicest teacher, and you’ve been acting kinda…”

“Bitchy?” Mrs. Gold offered, rubbing at her back for a moment before pulling up a chair and sinking into it.

“I was going to say different,” Emma chuckled, her teacher joining in.

“Yes, well, I’m thirty-six weeks pregnant, a few weeks away from my first big production, and living with the world’s moodiest teenager. I don’t mean to engage in hyperbole here, so I won’t. Hamlet was a better stepson.”

Emma laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made him moody.”

Belle let out a musical giggle. “Sweetie, the only person who made Neal moody was the person he inherited that gene from: his father.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“He is too, you know?”

“Did he say that?”

Another beautiful laugh, “Hell if I know! You think he talks to me about any of that stuff? He just sulks around the house with those headphones on, slamming doors and acting like he’s got a monopoly on hurt feelings. But he’s a boy, and they’re all sort of predictable, aren’t they? So if I had to put money on it, I’d say he’s sorry.”

“I don’t think I can fix this,” Emma sighed.

“Sometimes broken things are okay too. Don’t worry about fixing it. Just try to enjoy what it is. Can I ask you something, Emma? As your friend's stepmom and not as your teacher?”

Emma nodded.

“When you were thirty-six weeks pregnant, did you just want to punch everyone?” Mrs. Gold asked with an exasperated sigh. “Because I’m trying to decide if this is a symptom of the pregnancy hormones, or just the men in my life.”

“I always want to punch everyone,” Emma offered, “So I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask. I understand if you’re mad at me though, Neal has a right to be and you’re his mom-”

“I’m not mad at you,” Mrs. Gold cut her off, “and I don’t think Neal is either. But you won’t know if you two just keep avoiding each other.”

So Emma took her advice. She sat down with Neal. They talked.

But she had not been ready for what he had to say.


	19. Chapter Nineteen: So Happy! Ever After! So Happy!

_ “Wishes may bring problems, such that you regret them. Better that, though, than to never get them.” _

**Chapter Nineteen: So Happy! Ever After! So Happy!**

Neal was normally not afraid of confrontation. He’d grown up with a little too much of it his whole life; strong-willed and pig-headed parents proving that apples never really do fall far. 

So normally, chin up, blinders on, he would face a problem with a little bit of yelling and a lot of crying, but he’d push through it and it would be over quickly. Normally. But this thing with Emma wasn’t normal. There were a lot of moving parts, and though he normally loved the swirling chaos of uncertainty she brought to his life, he couldn’t figure out how to solve this problem.

Because he knew how he  _ should _ solve it. But he really didn’t want to.

And it didn’t help when she followed suit and ignored him, too. Because it would have been nice if she chased after him for once.

His dad wasn’t much help, either. Not that he ever was.

Sitting on the edge of Neal’s bed again, his dad looked at him in his computer chair, waiting for him to finish a game before starting in that clear confident voice his dad had that made it sound like he’d never experienced a doubt in his life.

“Belle says I need to talk to you about sex.”

“I’m seventeen, pops. I think you’re a little late for that talk.”

“That’s what I said,” his father laughed and the sound and smile were comforting to Neal. They reminded him of a time, a long time ago, when he was little and he had liked his dad. “But Belle thinks it might be causing problems between you and Emma. And that you might need someone to tell you that that is normal at your age.”

“And what do you think?” Neal asked, turning back to his computer and queuing for another match, ignoring how shocked his dad looked that Neal had actually asked for his opinion. 

“I think your stepmom is a very smart woman. And I think that you know what is right and you know what is wrong. And I trust your decisions - even if they might be stupid and I might hate them sometimes.”

“Thanks, pops, very helpful,” He mumbled, going back to his game as his dad left.

And so he did know what he needed to do.

He just didn’t like it.

But here were the facts: He was leaving in less than two months. And while Emma wouldn’t be upset if he started something incredibly serious before then, he would be upset with himself. Because he wanted to be able to commit to both lives, but it was next to impossible. And on top of that, Emma had a son. And so any pain he caused her, he was indirectly causing Henry. He couldn’t be that guy, he couldn’t be his dad, who would just start something and run away from it, leaving Emma and Henry to wonder why they weren’t good enough. 

Even though it seemed wrong, Neal knew it was right.

So when she finally cornered him at play practice, he told her the truth.

“I think we should break up.”

“Is that what you want?” she had asked, her face surprisingly devoid of a reaction.

“What I want is for you to be happy,” He told her, “Even if it isn’t with me.”

“So this is it?”

“I think so.”

And she had gotten up and walked away and it was over. And he felt a big gaping hole in his chest, and he was definitely going to cry about this in the shower tonight after he called his mom to tell her about his first breakup, but right now he just felt kind of peaceful. Because this was better for Emma and Henry, and it couldn’t always just be about him. 

So when he climbed into Belle's car, loading his sketchbook, play stuff, and book bag into the backseat before buckling into the passenger seat, he didn't regret his decision. He didn’t like it. But he didn’t regret it. 

“I saw you talking to Emma today,” Belle pried, a sideways glance towards him.

“Yeah. I broke things off.”

“You did what?” she hissed, her jaw clenching tight as he saw his death flash behind those brilliant blue eyes.

“I told her I thought we should end it. We’re in two very different places in our lives. She wants something from me that I can't give her and I want things for myself that she can’t give me. So it just makes sense, logically, to call it. We’re just kids and it’s not like it was that serious.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, nice and slow so that even he could understand.

“Thanks for the support, mom,” he mumbled. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing, Neal. If I cry at all over the next couple weeks you should just assume it’s the hormones.”

And so he did.

Because Belle cried a lot over the next two weeks. A lot. And there wasn’t much rhyme or reason, as far as Neal could see to any of it.

But the good news, kind of, was that he and Emma were staying friends. She was clearly annoyed at him, but she didn’t object to his friendship. And that was good because Neal needed a friend right now, with the stress of the play, and the breakup, and all the crazy emotional stuff going on at home.

He was helping her adjust the tiara for her costume in Act Two one afternoon when Killian stopped by to lean on the counter in front of the mirror and smirk. 

“Looking forward to tomorrow,” he said with a wink, which was definitely more aimed at Neal, before pressing a quick kiss on Emma’s cheek and then dashing off again. 

“So…” Neal said as she continued to fuss with her hair, “You’re seeing Killian now.”

That was fast.

“I’m not seeing him,” she said, continuing to fuss as if nothing was wrong. “We’re just talking. Killian and I have always had this kind of on-again-off-again flirty thing. It’s just more of that.”

Right.

“You’re not jealous are you?” she asked, turning around in her chair, looking every bit the part of a princess. “I mean, you were the one that wanted to break up, Neal.”

Fuck yes, he was jealous. And  _ wanted _ was a very strong word.

“I know, I just don’t think Killian is a good idea, Em,” he mumbled, pushing her over with his hip so that he could sit on the bench next to her as she fussed with her makeup. “Have you told him about Henry?”

“You mean my brother?” she hissed quietly. “Yes, Neal, he knows I have a brother.”

“Emma,” he sighed. “I just don’t think you should be with someone you can’t talk to about that kind of stuff.”

She turned to him with anger in her eyes, “Don’t you dare to presume you know anything about who I should be with, Neal Cassidy.”

“Are you happy with Killian?”

“So happy!”

And so he backed off the issue. And they got back to being friends.

She sat next to him in the auditorium folding chairs as they watched their peers, now in full costume, running through scenes that were already so close to perfect it was hard to find anything wrong with them. 

“Killian and I are going to the movies Friday,” she offered as he continued to sketch. He just had a few set pieces left to design, and he had been discussing an idea with Belle to have the tops of the trees on the flats subtly bend into fantastical creatures like dragons, griffins, and manticores, to add an element of fantasy to the set. It was going to be a hell of a project, but now that he had a whole lot more free time on his hands, he thought he could pull it off in two weeks.

“Who’s watching Henry?” he asked without looking up.

She paused.

“Snow wouldn’t watch him for you, would she?” he asked, trying not to sound smug. He wasn’t sure if she was doing that as a favor to him, or because, like Neal, she thought that Killian was a dickhead.

“It’s just that she and David also have plans.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he broke things off with Kathryn, he’s not ready to do the whole long-distance thing. But he and Snow are going to the same college next year and so they figured they’d do all their registration stuff together and it just kind of turned into more.”

“Good for Snow!” And he meant it too. “So who’s watching Henry?”

She paused, “Mrs. Blanchard said she could watch him. Just this one time.”

“You know you could always call me,” he offered, looking up from his sketch to meet her eyes.

“Yeah, Neal, okay, I’m going to call my ex-boyfriend to come watch my baby while I go on a date with another guy.”

“I’m serious. I like Henry, and I’m not upset about you dating” - anyone other than Killian - “So I don’t mind watching him. I could probably keep him alive for a few hours.”

“So, are you… dating anyone?”

No. That would be ridiculously fast. She was his first girlfriend. He had thought that maybe he loved her. He had wanted to lose his virginity with her. So no, he hadn’t moved on. But he was pretending to, for her. 

“No big dates like you,” -with horny assholes, he added in his head - “But Tamara and I have started jogging after play practice, so that’s fun.”

“You hate running.”

He did. He really, really did. In fact, he knew Tamara had a bit of a crush on him and he couldn’t figure out why for the life of him, because Neal had never felt less attractive than when he was gasping for air, and dripping with sweat, and trying to do everything in his power to avoid having a stroke.

“I thought I would hate acting too,” he reminded her. 

“Are you happy, jogging with Tamara?”

“So happy!”

Which was the wrong answer because she got up and stormed away and didn’t talk to him again the next day either. 

One night, he asked Tamara to stay for dinner, and it was incredibly awkward. She didn’t have much to say. And his father didn’t have much to say. And so it was just Neal and Belle, carrying the conversation, until for no reason, at the end of the night, Belle burst into tears. His father sent Tamara home and Neal and his dad had fought bitterly about how if Neal couldn’t commit to Emma because he was leaving in a few weeks, then he had no business bringing any other girls home, either. And Neal had yelled back, because Neal always yelled back, and Belle had stepped in and told them to stop fighting. And then she cried some more. 

And Neal just kept assuming it was just the pregnancy hormones, like she had told him.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

Until he realized exactly what it was Belle was crying over.

They were working on the blocking for No More - a scene Belle had avoided working on like the plague - after school, in full costume, because the play was just around the corner. He and August, who played The Baker’s Father, were sitting on a prop bench that Neal had made last weekend to look just like a tree branch, and going through their lines with the few bits of blocking they had managed to come up with themselves. But it felt incredibly mechanical, because Neal was just focused on not playing with his costume, and August, who had a father that he loved, didn’t really understand the emotions behind the scene.

“ _ We disappoint, we disappear, we die, but we don’t _ ,” August said, and Neal watched Belle cringe from the audience because it was supposed to be such a remorseful line and August was still falling flat.

“ _ We disappoint, in turn I guess, forgive, though, we won’t _ ,” Neal answered back. And he was actually really good at that line. Because even though The Baker didn’t know the answers to those riddles, Neal did. Father and son. 

They shared their last line together, August giving Neal an awkward pat on the shoulder before exiting stage left so that Neal could continue with the scene alone.

“That’s not going to work,” Belle sighed, standing up and moving closer to the stage. “A pat on the back is just too impersonal after that.”

“So I should hug him?” August asked.

“No, but you want to hug him here,” Belle explained.

“So then why don’t I just hug him?” August asked.

“Because he doesn’t want that,” Belle answered, choking up as Neal played with the stupid felt hat she had given him. “Because he’s your son and he needs space to be angry” - here she paused to stifle a sob - “So you need to turn to him, like you’re going to hug him, pause, and then leave. Because your time to lead the conversation is over and it’s Bae- Neal- The Baker’s time to turn to the audience and lead the conversation. It's his story now. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. I just need a minute. It’s all these damn pregnancy hormones.”

She ran off stage, wiping at her big blue eyes and Neal knew, knew in the two or three brain cells he had left, that he needed to chase after her. That he would be an ass and an idiot if he didn’t. 

He found her backstage, fiddling with the props and wiping at her eyes. 

“I’m sorry you got sucked into all this,” he mumbled. “It’s really not fair.”

She looked up at him, “Into what, Neal?”

“I mean you just wanted to be with pop. You didn’t ask for a teenage son and all this extra baggage. And he had no right to put any of that on you. I didn’t either. I’m sorry.”

She smiled sweetly, blurring her mascara as she wiped at her eyes. “Neal, you and I know better than most, when you love someone, you don’t just love the good things. You love the messy parts too. The dark parts. The things that no one thinks they can love. I love your father. And I love his teenage son.”

“Even if his teenage son is kind of a jerk sometimes?”

“He does have a temper like his dad, doesn’t he?” she chuckled. “Listen, Neal, I know you're hurting. This thing with Emma. This thing with your mom. But your dad is hurting too. And it hurts me to see him hurting.”

“Go home, Belle,” he whispered. “I’m serious. You’re about to explode and you just need to be with pop right now. I’ll pack up all the costumes. I can walk back. It’s not a big deal.”

She nodded and agreed, and she trusted him with that responsibility.

And it would have been really easy to just send everyone home, but they were so close to the play and everyone was humming with nerves, so Neal took his turn at directing a couple scenes. He actually kind of liked it. He found he had insights to offer that surprised even him. 

“Emma, when you say that you knew he wouldn’t leave his child, you need to have some doubt there. Because you didn’t know, you just hoped.”

“Robin, when you climb back down the vine and embrace your mom, you’re not thrilled to see her. Remember, you just said you wished you could live in-between, so you’re happy to see her, but maybe look off to the sky as you’re hugging her, so the audience knows you’re thinking about that other world you just got back from.”

“Killian, for Christ’s sake, if you take your shirt off one more time my stepmom is going to duct tape it to you on the night of the play!”

So feeling oddly satisfied with himself, he went into the boy’s dressing room to collect the costumes, gathering and folding them where they fell as the rest of the boys, in various states of undress, talked about their weekend plans. 

He had never been very good at folding laundry, but he tried really hard so they wouldn’t wrinkle and so that maybe Belle would let him run play practice again, because she needed the break and he needed the confidence. 

Everything today had gone pretty well, all things considered. Until he got to the prop closet. Because for some reason Belle had started locking the prop closet - and not with a padlock or a combination lock that Neal could pick. He couldn’t prove it, but he felt like she had specifically bought one of those magnetic ones that Neal had never been able to get the hang of. And she hadn’t left him the keys. And he’d left his phone in his bag. In her car.

But that was okay, this was just a minor inconvenience. 

Hurrying back to the dressing room with an arm full of costumes, he found Killian was the only one still left, carefully buttoning up his shirt in the mirror.

“Hey, man, I need your phone to call my stepmom,” Neal said, setting the costumes down on the counter.

“Sure,” Killian said, tossing him the little device. ”I’ll be out on stage, come get me when you’re done.”

And Neal wasn’t nosy. He really wasn’t, so he had just planned to dial Belle and be done with it. But as he was typing in the number, a notification popped up. And Neal hadn’t meant to read it, because, again, he wasn’t nosy, but it was right there and it was hard not to.

_ “Hey baby, ready for round two tonight, after you drop Cinderella off at midnight?” _

And that could have meant anything, Neal hoped, so he kept dialing.

But another message popped up and it was… less ambiguous. Also a photograph.

So, while he knew it wasn’t any of his business, and it certainly wasn’t his job to protect Emma any more, Neal stopped dialing and opened up Killian’s text messages. It was a total invasion of privacy, he knew that, but he found Emma’s name on the list and opened them up and read them all quickly. And he would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was a tad relieved to see how one-sided they were. He knew what it sounded like when Emma was trying to flirt. He knew the things she was capable of saying when she wanted to be… seductive. And this wasn’t it. But they did have a date set for tonight.

“ _ I have to be home by midnight, _ ” one of her texts warned.

Fuck. This wasn’t his business. This wasn’t his problem. 

But he went back to Killian’s inbox anyways, scrolling through a long list of girls' names and the messages they had sent Killian.

Damn, there were a lot of nudes on this thing.

But it really wasn’t his business, and it really wasn’t his place to shield Emma from jerks like Killian, so he really shouldn’t say anything.

“What the fuck!?” he yelled, throwing the phone at Killian’s head who had to scramble to catch it before the little glass device hit the floor and shattered.

“You’re welcome?” Killian offered.

“Seriously, why are like this?” Neal demanded, storming over and grabbing Killian by his collar, rage he had no right to flashing behind his eyes.  _ He _ had broken up with  _ her _ . 

“Devilishly handsome? Just born that way I guess,” Killian offered, still not sure what was going on.

“I mean, you've got every girl in the school in that thing, and that’s fine, you do you. But Emma isn’t like that.”

“I know,” Killian said, sounding confused. “That’s the challenge.”

“What?” 

Neal let go and he watched Killian brush off his shoulders as if Neal had just left fingerprints on his shirt. “She’s never dated anyone at this school, except you, and you don’t count because, you know-” Killian said, his eyes drifting down to Neal’s crotch. And if it wouldn’t have fucked with Belle’s play so much, Neal would have busted that pretty lip all over again. That’s what Killian deserved, and Neal would have been all too happy to give it to him. 

“Emma isn’t a challenge. She is a person with a life. And you don’t know what you are messing with if you get her hopes up and let her down!”

“No offense, but I think you’re the one who let her down,” Killian said, patting Neal on the shoulder before turning to stalk away. “Now I get to pick up the pieces. So thanks, you’ve made this really easy for me.”

And yeah, Neal couldn't bust his lip, or break anything, without messing with the play. But Neal was his father’s son, his mother’s Lost Boy, and he knew there were many ways to hurt a person without causing a lasting injury. A knee to the balls, for one.

But he held back.

Because as much as he really wanted to hurt Killian, he couldn’t.

Because if he hurt Killian, Emma wouldn’t believe him. 

And he really needed Emma to believe him.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Agony (Reprise)

_ “Is the way always barred?” _

**Chapter Twenty: Agony (Reprise)**

Emma was trying way too hard for this date and she knew it. She had put on a nice sweater and let Snow do her makeup, and had even agreed to trade her red leather coat for a brown one that matched her outfit. 

And she kind of hated it, because she had always just worn jeans and a t-shirt with Neal, half the time not bothering with makeup at all. 

But Killian felt like the kind of guy you dressed up for. Like he needed to be impressed. And right now, Emma really wanted someone to be impressed with her. 

She was disappointed when she came downstairs, and Mary Margaret and Mrs. Blanchard had both said, “You’re wearing that?”

“Don’t you have a dress, dear?”

“You can borrow one of mine.”

And so she had gone back upstairs to dig through her closet and look at herself in the mirror. Because, sure, high-necked sweaters weren’t sexy, but she thought it had flattered her figure and that it would be good enough.

“Emma!” she heard Mrs. Blanchard call from downstairs, “Your date is here!”

Oh, well, guess she didn’t have time to change.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Killian.

“What are you doing here, Neal?” She asked, because he looked a little out of breath and panicky and she was annoyed - because he could  _ not _ be here when Killian got here - but also she was a little worried cause he looked upset. 

“I need to - wow, you look amazing - sorry, um, can I come in?”

“No.”

Not because she was mad. She was. But the real reason he couldn’t come in was because if he did, Emma would never be able to force herself to leave. 

“Emma, I don't want to say this on the porch-”

“Well that’s too bad,” she said, “Because I’m not inviting you in.”

“Listen, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this. And I know what it looks like, and if I had more time I would be trying to think of a better way, but that’s never really worked for us so I’m just going to say it. You can’t go out with Killian.”

“I can’t?”

Her heart raced. Because what if he was saying what she thought he was...

“You shouldn’t.”

“Neal,” she offered carefully, because if she had learned anything by now it was to not get her hopes up with him, “You ended things. You thought it was for the best. You said you wanted me to be happy. This makes me happy.”

“I know Em, but Killian’s a dick. Please, use your superpower. I’m not lying. We’re over. And I get that. I’m okay with that. But Killian Jones is a dirtbag who is sleeping with half the school. And he’s only interested in you because you're unattainable.”

Why would he ask her to use her superpower just to lie to her face? Did he not believe in it the way he didn’t believe in them?

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying, it’s all true, I swear.”

He was.

“Neal, I don't have time for this. I’m sorry if you’re jealous, but this was your choice-”

“Would you just listen to me for once, Emma. If you don't believe me, check his phone.”

“Only crazy girls do that, Neal.”

“Okay, well then I’m a crazy girl. I don't care. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, slamming the door in his face for the second time this month. 

But as the night wore on, and Killian arrived, Emma wished that she had listened to Neal.

Not because she missed Neal, not because she was going to get hurt.

Emma wished she had listened to Neal because then she wouldn’t be here, suffering through the agony of this date.

Because she and Killian didn’t really have much to talk about. They had a casual sort of friendship, she trusted him about as much as Robin really, which was to say more than most, but infinitely less than Snow and Neal. So they ran through the details of their day and what they thought about the movie they were going to see, and Killian flirted mercilessly, but they ran out of things to say pretty quickly.

And suddenly Emma understood what Neal had been trying to tell her about talking being more important than a physical connection. Because she had really enjoyed talking to Neal. She liked how excited he got when he told her about the lore behind his video games, how he listened intently to all her stories about her favorite shows. He always asked about Henry and she always asked about his family, and they never seemed to run out of things to say. And maybe that hadn’t been worth throwing away over something as stupid as… honestly she didn’t really know why they had thrown it away. Because he had made that call. 

So it didn’t matter if she missed it, she was stuck here with Killian. 

“How’s your shake?” he asked as she quietly stirred her chocolate shake with a spoon.

“Thick,” she said, “It’s the thickest.”

He nodded, clearly aware he was not holding her attention. 

“Are you excited for this movie? The trailer looked great.”

“Nervous, it looks kinda scary,” she mumbled, and if she knew Killian, that had been kind of the point. “I’m not really a fan of blood and gore movies.”

He nodded, reaching across the table for her hand. “Emma, I know you have something on your mind. You can tell me anything. Is this about Neal?”

Yes and no. She shrugged.

“I understand, that has got to be hard for you, with him ending things out of the blue like that. None of us saw it coming. Normally when guys like him get a girl who is way out of their league, they do everything in their power to fight to keep her. I know I would have. He’s an idiot, and I know I can’t replace what he was to you, but if you give me a chance, I’d like to try.”

And there was that cautious, shy smile that he had that always made her just a little hesitant to write him off as a total dick. And yeah, just about everything he said was too smooth to be true, lie detector or not, but it all sounded very nice.

Because of course it did.

Because Killian was first and foremost an actor.

And suddenly she had a whole lot of doubts about being in a dark movie theater, alone, with Killian. As he ran his thumb across her hand, those steel grey eyes watching her with the same careful concern she had seen him put on his face time and time again for his role as two-timing Prince Charming, she felt her stomach twist into knots.

Because this must have been how Neal felt.

And yes, she knew it was different. She liked Neal, she genuinely cared about him, but she had put him in the same uncomfortable situation, put pressure on him like Killian was undoubtedly going to put on her, and then continued to ignore his gently insistent explanations.

So of course he had snapped at her.

Of course he had done something just a little bit crazy.

Just like she was about to do.

Because she wanted to trust how nice Killian was being, but she needed to be sure.

“Oh, shit, I forgot,” she said, feigning panic, “I was supposed to get Mrs. Gold my shoe size by tonight. If she doesn’t have it before tomorrow I’m going to be barefoot on stage.”

He chuckled, leaning back in the booth to spread his arms across the top. “That’s fine, give her a call. Tell her to tell Bae ‘hi’ for me.”

Emma made a point of turning her phone off in her pocket before she pulled it out and messed with it. “Shit,” she swore, “I must have forgotten to charge it. Can I use yours?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Sure, I’ll dial it for you.”

“No,” Emma insisted, “She’s not going to be answering her school number right now. I’m just going to call her cell.”

He looked down at his phone and then up at her.

“Did you talk to Neal today?”

“If I talked to Neal today, what would he have told me?”

“Emma,” he sighed, reaching out for her hand again, his eyes soft and sad and believable, “Lies. He would have told you lies. He is realizing what a big mistake he made and he doesn’t want you to move on. He’s never been my biggest fan, you know that, and so seeing you with me probably added a bit of salt to the wound. Honestly, I’m surprised he would try and talk nonsense to you, hurt your feelings, instead of just coming after me. I would have much rather he just punched me again, because then you wouldn’t have to be so insecure about how much I really do care about you. How much I want to help you heal from all this.”

And it was really sweet. It was a really nice story. It was exactly the story she needed to hear right now, down to every last, little detail. Neal was jealous, of course he was. He was trying to keep her away from Killian because he couldn’t stand having lost her. Killian was here for her, to support her, to wipe away all the smudges and doubts Neal had left on her self-esteem. It was a beautiful story, but fragile and strange. Like a casket made of glass.

“So then why can’t I see your phone?” she asked.

“Because I’m asking you to trust me, Emma!” he said, frustration and anger rising in his voice, “Because I think we could have something good here, and we can’t build anything important if there isn’t any trust.”

“If you don’t let me see your phone, you are admitting Neal is right.”

“Really?” He asked, leaning forward. She wanted to grab that stupid skull necklace around his throat and twist it. “Neal left you, Emma. He didn’t like you enough to sleep with you, and then he started hanging around with Tamara a week later. And you’re going to believe him over me?”

“Yes,” she said, gathering her coat and standing up over the table, “Because Neal would show me his phone.”

“Emma!” he yelled as she stormed out, “Come back! I’ve already paid for the tickets.”

“You can eat them for all I care, Killian Jones,” she hissed, shrugging into her jacket as she made it to the sidewalk, dialing that all too familiar number on her walk home. 

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. He didn’t even say ‘hello’.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before she could even inform him who was calling.

“You were right.”

“Do you want me to come over? You’ve got the night off, don’t waste it. I’ll take you to a movie. Or we can go sit with Henry for a bit and I can tell you all of my embarrassing stories about girls. I know that would make you feel better, sitting with Henry and laughing at me always makes you feel better.”

“Just… stop, Neal,” she sighed into the phone, incredibly tired of all this. Things had been so much easier when she had been content to be alone. “I don’t want you to come over. I don’t want you to talk to me. You broke things off, and I can’t move on when you’re still hanging around and interfering like this.”

“Emma, I was just trying to help,” he said, his voice dripping with agony that cut into her heart like a knife. “I didn’t want to see him hurt you.”

“I know. I know you were. You always are. Just trying to help. But it’s not. So let’s pretend it’s January already. Stop calling me, don’t come to my house, I don't want to hang out with you. Date other girls or don’t, outside of the play, keep your space from me.”

And she hung up.

He called three more times, leaving a message each time of course, but she deleted them all without listening first. 

Oh well, back to her son.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: Lament

_ "Now you know what's out there in the world. No one can prepare you for the world.” _

**Chapter Twenty-One: Lament**

“Neal, why don’t children listen?” Belle asked, making another note on his to-do list as he followed her around the stage, now covered in all the different set pieces that he had built. And the freshman art and shop classes, because Neal couldn’t do it all on his own. 

Belle was really proud of his work. She loved it and took pictures and even talked about finding a place to store some of the stuff for next year. 

But she was less proud of what the other students had done.

And so, with only one more night until dress rehearsal, Neal was spending his Sunday following her around and fixing all the little things that needed to be touched up. And of course lifting things. Because his step mom seemed blissfully unaware that she was incredibly pregnant. His dad had been able to convince her to only run one dress rehearsal and not the four she was ambitiously planning, and Neal had been able to convince her to leave her heels in a chair at the front of the auditorium because he couldn’t fathom walking in those things even when you weren’t pregnant, but she was still trying to fuss and lift and direct every little thing. 

“Oh, my god, did they try to attach this with glitter glue?” she whined, poking at the screen that would conceal Cinderella’s Mother in the tree until it was time for her song.

“I’ll go get the glue gun,” Neal said, practically pulling Belle away from a chair she was trying to climb onto to tuck the corners. “Two feet on the ground until I get back.”

And so he glued and drilled and sanded and painted while she continued to fuss over every little thing, with exclamations of ‘Why do they refuse to learn?’ and ‘Are they trying to kill me?’

And it was hard work, not so much the fixing of all the half-assed sets and props, but trying to safely work with his tools and keep one eye on his reckless stepmother. Because it was his job to watch her, he had been expressly told so by his dad, and Neal did not really like the thought of what would happen to him if something happened to her. But she was really crafty and Neal was really bad at multitasking.

It was one of these moments, when he was trying to pull a splinter out of his thumb with his teeth, when he heard her call to him from the right wing where all the little props were being kept, carefully organized by Belle on a folding card table. 

“Neal? Can you come here for a second?” 

Her voice was incredibly measured. He’d never heard her use that voice before. But he had heard Emma use it plenty of times, normally when she was trying not to get mad at him.

_ What did they do now? _ he thought, as he pushed himself off the floor and made his way backstage to where she was standing with her back to him, eyes glued to the prop table.

“What’s wrong?” Neal asked in that same patient voice, ready to run for another supply he needed to fix something.

“Just come here,” she said, her voice still sounding very strained. As soon as he reached her, she grabbed his shoulder with a vice-like grip, shifting her entire weight onto him so quickly he almost collapsed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, waiting for an answer that didn’t come, “Belle, why is the floor wet?”

They turned to look at each other, a silent conversation between two sets of wide eyes, her hand still gripping his shoulder, his knees feeling as if they were about to buckle.

“Neal,” she said, her voice still very patient and quiet, “Can you please help me to the car?”

He nodded, trying to swallow as his heart raced. Because he knew this was coming. People didn’t stay pregnant forever. But it was  _ early  _ and it was  _ now _ and he wasn’t at all prepared for this.

But he could help her to the car. That was simple enough. He could keep breathing and help her to the car.

And so he half-carried, half-dragged, her down the stage steps and out of the auditorium into the snowy December night. She was barefoot, oh God, she was barefoot and it was his fault because he’d told her to take her shoes off. He wasn’t even a brother yet and he was already fucking it up.

When he got to the car he handed her the keys, opening up the passenger side door as she stared at him with those big, wide eyes.

“Neal, honey, I’m going to need you to drive.”

Of course she did, right, he should have known that.

So he took the keys back, helping her sit down in the seat while she clutched at her stomach and breathed through her nose and he prayed to whoever was out there listening that he didn't panic and kill all three of them in a car crash. Because it was three now. It was about to be three. 

As he drove, he clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, trying very hard to drive quickly and safely, but the falling snow made it difficult. And he watched Belle, out of the corner of his eye as her breathing became more and more ragged and her eyes fixed silently ahead until she couldn’t take it anymore. Her hand gripped his thigh, fingernails digging into him as she opened her mouth in a silent scream. And it really shouldn’t be Neal right now, in this car, with her. Because he hadn’t gone to any of her weird breathing classes, and he barely knew how to get to the hospital, and he was pretty sure she had an overnight bag already packed in his dad’s car.

And in those moments, Neal became very aware that she was only five years older than him, because he felt like the age difference was light years. She was about to create life and he couldn’t even remember to tie his shoes on good days. 

But they got to the hospital and suddenly Neal’s life, which had been moving in slow motion for the last thirty minutes, became a whirlwind so fast that he felt like he was going to vomit. There were nurses and doctors and other staff members that Neal had no concept of but was really glad were there, and they managed to get Belle into a wheelchair and into the hospital and then they were pulling him away from her and he was arguing and crying and she reached out, grabbing his hand tightly.

“Neal,” she insisted, her voice too calm for the chaos inside of him, “Call your father.”

So he called his dad on the step’s outside with the smokers, his throat too dry to get out any words, but if he knew anything about his parents he would probably have to leave a message so at least that gave him time to get himself together.

Except for his dad picked up on the first ring.

“Bae, where are you two, you were supposed to be home half an hour ago?”

“We’re at the hospital,” he managed to get out.

“Why?” he heard his dad ask, the pitch in his voice growing incredibly sharp and high, and Neal had never heard it like that before so it didn’t help with the panic. “Are you okay? Where is Belle?”

“I’m fine, pops,” Neal assured him. “It’s the baby, she’s having the baby. And they won’t let me in with her because I’m not family. And I tried to tell them, pop - I said ‘My name is Baelfire Gold’ - I told them I was her son, but they wouldn’t let me through. They said that’s not what is said on my ID and they just took her away. Can she even do this, her due date is still two weeks away?”

His dad chuckled, much calmer now, “Son, calm down. Belle is going to be fine. She doesn’t need you there. I’m sure she’s glad you came all this way with her, but she will be fine without you now. And due dates aren’t an exact science, she and the baby will be fine. I’m on my way.”

And so Neal waited in the lobby, his head in his hands as he tried to untangle all the crazy emotions he was feeling. 

First and foremost there was panic. How did people do this? How had his mom managed to do this? How had Emma, sixteen and alone, managed to do this? Neal didn't get it, he thought his heart was going to explode right out of his chest and he wasn’t even the one giving birth.

The second emotion to arrive was fear. What if something happened to Belle or the baby? People used to die in childbirth, kind of a lot, and what if something happened now? He loved her and that stupid little brother he hadn’t even met yet, was really just getting to know them, and what if he lost them?

The third emotion to arrive, around the same time as his father, was a touch of sadness. Because he wasn’t going to be his father’s only son for much longer. And despite having never been very close with his dad, that was a title he had grown attached to without realizing it. And he was sad that he couldn’t be with them because of his own dumb decision to not be family. And a little bit of sadness that Belle was back there with a son she wanted more than anything, and he had no clue where his mother was right now.

He greeted his dad with a panicked embrace.

“It’s okay Bae, you did good. I can take it from here. Take Belle’s car and go home.”

So he put on a brave face and he headed back out to the car, but he just sat in the driver seat, too nervous and shaky to drive himself home.

He really didn’t know what to do right now because this was all very new and frightening to him.

And he had promised himself he wouldn’t call. He had promised himself that he would respect her wishes. But he was scared and alone and it was the only thing that made sense.

So with a shaking hand he unlocked his phone and called the one person he knew who had any experience with this kind of thing. 

“Emma, I need you,” he whispered into the phone.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two: Any Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, that has nothing to do with this chapter but I think belongs here all the same, originally the role I had the hardest filling was that of Prince Charming. I knew he was going to have to be the antagonist and I knew he would have to be one of Emma's love interests, but none of them fit nicely. The Prince, as some of you know, is normally played as an arrogant idiot, completely unaware of how wrong his actions are. And though I do not like all of Emma's love interests equally, I think it's fair to say none are idiots (Except maybe the one I wanted to use as my protagonist), so I struggled here. Until I heard Drew Gehling perform Any Moment for the Broadway Prince Party. His dry sense of humor and portrayal of The Prince as a clever manipulator instead of spoiled fool is by far one of my favorite renditions of the The Prince - and he did it all without set, costume, or context. After that it became clear: Killian was my villain, and I think that's worked out very nicely for my story and for his character. So if you haven't seen Drew Gehling perform Any Moment, and you love Into The Woods like I do, I strongly recommend you do yourself a favor and look it up. It is wonderful.

_ “ _ _ Right and wrong don't matter in the woods, only feelings. Let us meet the moment unblushed. Life is often so unpleasant … best to take the moment present, as a present for the moment.” _

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Any Moment**

When Emma got the call she was in the middle of putting Henry to bed. She almost didn’t answer because she had told him to stop calling her and this was ridiculous because he was going to wake up Henry who had taken over an hour to get to sleep tonight.

But Neal was pretty good at respecting her wishes.

And Neal never called past Henry’s bedtime for that reason. 

So she worried and hit the talk button out in the hall completely planning to have a hushed argument into the phone about how annoying he was being.

“Mary Margaret?” she asked, poking her head into her sister’s room. “I have to go out, can you keep an ear out for Henry?”

Snow looked up from her laptop where she was FaceTiming with David. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not sure,” Emma answered honestly. “But Henry should be down for the night. And I don’t know how late I'll be gone. Is that okay?”

“Is it Neal?” Snow whispered, before nodding quietly, “Yeah, go. I’ll look out for him.”

So that’s how Emma found herself in the hospital parking lot searching parked vehicles for the one Neal was sitting in, eventually recognizing Mrs. Gold’s car after searching for about five minutes.

He had his head down on the steering wheel, running that blue scarf that used to belong to his mother through his fingers anxiously, when she tapped on the window of the passenger side, causing him to startle, and then unlock the door for her. 

“You want to talk?”

He shook his head ‘no’, going back to playing with the scarf. His eyes were red and his whole expression looked defeated, like any moment he was about to explode into tears again. And she was really worried, because why were they in a hospital parking lot?

She reached out, setting her hand on his knee, squeezing in a way that she hoped was comforting.

“Belle’s having her baby,” he mumbled.

“Congratulations Neal, you’re going to be a brother,” she smiled, hoping that the persistently cheerful tone in her voice would be enough to snap him out of whatever he was going through. “That’s good news, babe.”

But the look on his face said that it wasn’t. 

“Neal, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“What’s right?” he asked in frustration. “My mom won’t answer my damn calls, my dad is in there with his real family, my friends are all hours away, and the one person I want to see every day doesn’t want me to talk to her at all anymore.”

She felt a little crushed by that.

“Neal, look at me,” she offered, tilting his chin up to meet her eyes. “I’m here.”

And he did look at her. He looked at her really intensely for a moment, those stormy eyes drinking everything in. Wheels turning behind them.

And then he was kissing her, like he had never kissed her before. It was passionate and forceful and desperate.

And he was leaning back and pulling her with him until she was finally forced to decide between climbing into the driver’s seat with him or breaking off the kiss.

A month ago that would have been an easy decision. But now, she wasn't sure what was right. Then again, right and wrong were a little fuzzy in a moment like this.

He paused, running his fingers through his hair as he watched her awkwardly climb over the center console, her feet still left in the passenger seat as he resumed holding her, his mouth exploring her neck, tugging at the collar of her grey t-shirt to expose more skin he could kiss. 

But it was her turn to play the responsible one, so when he began to shrug out of his coat, tossing his scarf into the backseat, it was her turn to remind him that they were in a public space, and people could see them if they chose to approach the parked car.

And then, when he started to shift his weight to pull her legs around him, rutting hips against hers with an uncharacteristic, but not unpleasant, amount of force, it was her turn to remind him that the space was small and if he moved too much she was going to bump into the horn, which was the least subtle thing they could do.

And so, instead of accepting these valid excuses, the way Emma had a few months ago, he dug his hand under the seat, pulling the lever to recline it all the way back, tugging her backwards as he turned to pull her underneath him.

And if she was being honest, it was probably the best kiss she had ever had. And she really didn’t want it to stop. And her impulse control had already been hanging on by a thread when she agreed to come out here. 

“Neal,” she said, and then when he failed to respond to his name, pushing him off her just enough to make eye contact as she continued, “You were right, earlier. I should have told you that. You shouldn’t feel rushed into anything and you shouldn’t feel like this is something you have to do to keep me in your life. Let’s go get coffee and we can talk about this, because you’re feeling really emotional and I think you might not be thinking like yourself.”

“Not emotional. Don’t want coffee. Not rushed,” he managed to respond between kisses, his fingers hooking through the belt loops of her jeans as he pulled her against him.

“Neal,” she insisted, pushing a little more forcefully this time until he had no choice but to back up and listen to her. “This is a bit ridiculous. We're in your stepmom’s car. In a busy hospital parking lot. They’re going to call the cops on us.”

He nodded, clearly processing what she had said.

“Emma, if we weren’t in the car, would you want this? Do you want me?”

“I’m not going to your dad’s house, Neal. He will kill us both if he comes home from the hospital to find me there.”

“And Henry-”

“Henry’s fine, Neal. He’s with Snow. This is more about not being foolish.”

“So Henry is fine. And you do want me - you want this. I just need to find us a place to go?”

“Yes. No. That’s not really what I’m saying.”

But he wasn’t listening to her, he had lifted himself up enough to dig around in the back seat for a minute, returning with Mrs. Gold’s purse held triumphantly in his hand. 

“Emma, say that you want me.”

“I do, Neal.”

“Say that if I have an answer, you’ll come with me.”

That one was a little bit harder. But he was looking at her with such desperation in his eyes, and she remembered the hurt in his voice when he had told her that he needed her earlier tonight.

“I will,” she promised.

“Even if it means you’ll be out all night?”

She nodded again.

He opened the purse, rooting around for a moment before pulling out a set of small silver keys. “Move over, I’m driving.”

And so they drove, two hours into the night as stars and the headlights of other cars passed them by. Emma called Snow to warn her she was going to be very late, and Snow agreed to cover for her if anyone asked. Just please try and be home before mom wakes up. 

And they talked.

For two hours Neal told her about how much he missed his mom. How he called her everyday. And he told her about how much he respected what she went through with Henry, how thankful he was that he would never have to do that, because he really knew in his heart that he couldn’t. He told her about all his mixed feelings about Gideon, which was weird because she hadn’t realized until this moment that he thought very much about his half-brother at all.

About how he wanted to make sure Gideon had someone to call when times were hard. How he worried about his dad doing something stupid and ruining things for his brother, too. How he felt a little jealous that Gideon was the one they wanted. How he’d never met someone and already he loved them so much and that thought was frightening and impossible, and he lost sleep over it sometimes.

And he told her how much he wanted her, too. How he didn’t care what he had to do, get a job, get a car, stay with his dad more often, he wanted to make things work. He wanted to take care of her in a way he knew that he couldn’t because he was seventeen and didn’t have a lot on his side. But if she would just give him another chance, just forget all the stupid things he’d said, he would spend every day trying to prove to her that he could be a least half as strong as she was. 

And she talked too. She told him how much she missed Ingrid. How much simpler life had been when she had someone to come home to that was invested in her life. How Henry and juvie, and all those other messy things, would not have come to pass if only her first foster mom could have stuck around a little longer. 

She told him about having Henry, and how scary and painful it had been, and how none of that mattered the first time she held her son. How it was something that no one thought they could do until they had to, and it was worth it to see such a small fragile thing grow into a real person. 

She told him that he was going to be an amazing brother, that Gideon was lucky to have him. Because she was lucky to have Snow, and Neal always had been more like Snow. About all the times, now included, that Snow had been there and helped her when even the adults in her life had failed, and how Neal was going to be just like that for Gideon. 

So when they pulled up to Neal’s mother’s trailer, neither one was as nervous as they had been when they’d started the drive. 

And so he helped her out of the car, pulling her against him as he began to kiss her throat again, tripping and stumbling as he made his way backwards up the steps.

He paused, long enough to lock his stepmom’s car, fumbling for the keys in his pocket.

With one hand on the door handle, Emma stopped him.

“Promise me you’re not going to freak out this time?”

He smiled, that ear to ear grin she loved so much. “I’m not going to freak out.”

“Cause you’ve kind of freaked out on me twice now…”

“I’m not going to freak out.”

“Because if you don’t want to, I’m not going to be mad, I just need you to not freak out.”

“I’m not going to freak out,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her as he opened the door.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three: Moments In The Woods

_ “Oh, if life were made of moments, even now and then a bad one, but if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one.” _

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Moments In The Woods**

Neal had never wanted anything more than he wanted Emma in that moment.

Because even if things didn’t work out, even if they decided tomorrow to end things again, he knew this was the moment he wanted cemented in his mind as his first.

This woman. This night. This place.

It was a perfect culmination of sentiment that he couldn’t quite untangle, but he wanted it so badly. Needed it. Would not let his nerves force him into settling for anything less. 

Just this moment. Standing on its own as one perfect moment in his life.

When he looked back years from now, wherever he would be in life, he would remember Emma Swan and the way she felt pressed against him, in his childhood home, on the night when Neal’s whole life changed. He would never forget it, not for one moment.

And so he kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her. And she kissed him back, making their way to Neal’s bed. They shed articles of clothing quickly along the way, shirts tossed over the coffee table, shoes and socks kicked off in every direction. It was all Neal could do not to pick her up and throw her onto the bed, instead trying his best to pull her down gently with him, his hands a lot less shaky this time, his nerves gone. 

Well, not completely gone, but less insistent. 

Because he wasn’t quite ready to take off his jeans, and that was fine - he would know when it was time-, so he turned his attention to undressing her instead.

He remembered how badly her bra had shaken his confidence last time and so he sidestepped that potential trap, instead undoing the button on her jeans. He could take off jeans, he did that every day. And he really loved the way Emma wiggled and kicked underneath him as she helped him peel away the skinny jeans, leaving her only in her underwear. 

“Neal?” she asked, a little panic in her voice, “You’re not freaking out are you?”

And he wasn’t. He really wasn’t.

“No, baby, I’m just looking at you. You’re beautiful, and I want to remember every detail.”

She smiled up at him, reaching for him as they resumed the frantic kiss, legs tangling together as he continued to thrust against her, enjoying the way she answered back with a thrust of her own hips, pressure swelling painfully between the two. Because denim was not a very forgiving fabric.

“Neal?” she whispered again, and he really did love the way his name sounded in her mouth, but he kind of wished she’d stop asking so many questions, because soon she was bound to get to one he didn’t have an answer for. “I don’t mean to… if you don’t want to… I just… your jeans are kind of hurting me.”

And he didn’t want to, not really, but it was time and he wouldn’t be afraid. Because now he had a reason to: he didn’t want to hurt her. And yes, as he stood and struggled out of his jeans, he felt way more exposed standing there in his embarrassingly tented boxers than he would have liked to, but it was only going to get worse from here so there was no point in letting this stop them.

And so he let her smile pull him back to her, hands unclasping her bra with little nerves this time, a miracle, as he kissed at skin he’d never been able to explore before. And she moaned and called out his name beneath him and god, did he love that sound. Because he had never felt more like his name was supposed to be Neal than when she was calling him that.

Encouraged by her sounds, he drifted further down, letting his mouth explore her stomach and her hips, sucking soft, sweet bruises into her thigh. Hands reaching to pull away the last article of clothing between her and his fingertips. 

“Neal?” she asked again and he tried very hard not to respond in frustration.

“Emma? Are  _ you _ freaking out?” he asked dryly.

She chuckled. “No. I just, I wanted to tell you… I kind of have a scar.”

“So? I’ve got lots of scars,” he said, going back to kissing her.

“No. It’s from where I had my stitches... “

Neal paused, confused. So? He’d had lots of stitches, too. 

Oh…

And so he returned to her embrace, comforting her with kisses because he didn’t want her to be self-conscious or nervous. Because he was self-conscious and nervous, and there was only room for one of them to be. 

“If it helps,” he offered, with a caress of her hips, “I wouldn't have known if you hadn’t told me.”

“Oh, come on Neal, you’ve seen pictures.”

And he had. But he knew they were photo-shopped and posed and airbrushed and he really didn’t know what to expect. Like trying to fight a dragon armed only with a crude drawing of one. 

“I don’t care, baby,” he assured her, shifting to his side so that he could press his fingertips against her. She was warm and wet and so amazingly soft. It felt like comfort and love and need and lust all rolled into one, and more than anything he just wanted to be surrounded by her warmth. 

She moaned, hips rising to meet the rhythm of his fingers, and that brought on a surge of confidence, kissing her neck and basking in the soft way she kept repeating his name. This was perfect. He couldn’t have imagined this moment any better if he had tried. 

“Neal?”

Jesus Christ, what?

He kept kissing her, so unbelievably hard, and hoping whatever she had to say would be easy enough to address that he wouldn't have to pause.

“Neal, do you have a condom?”

Fuck.

That was a problem. 

“Are you kidding me, Neal?” she asked as he sat back on his heels, looking at the amazingly beautiful, completely naked, woman in front of him and not knowing how he could have been so stupid. “How many gas stations did we pass on the way here, and you didn’t stop once? Fuck me.”

Yes, he had been trying to. 

“I’ll fix it,” he assured her, “Just give me a second to think.”

Because he could run to the store, get dressed, drive forty-five minutes there and back. But that would kind of kill the mood, wouldn’t it? And she’d either have to wait here alone, which made him sick to his stomach, or she’d have to get dressed and come with him, which broke his heart because he really wasn’t trying to put clothes back on her. So that was out.

“It’s okay, babe,” she said, regaining her composure, hands running over his chest as he tried to think. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do that, we can just do other stuff.”

But it wasn’t okay. And he kind of had his heart set on doing  _ that _ .

Felix. He could run a couple doors down and grab one from his friend, Felix would definitely have one. But there was only a fifty-fifty chance Felix was home this early. And six other people lived in that trailer. And Neal couldn’t exactly wake up Felix’s five-year-old sister to demand a condom from his dad who was much more likely to deck Neal than to help him. 

There was Belle’s purse in the car. That felt like the kind of thing girls would keep in their purse. Except his stepmom was nine months pregnant - or had been this morning, who knew what she was now - and responsible enough to probably not be needing a condom in public places. Or at least he hoped not. Cause the thought of her and his dad was  _ definitely _ killing the mood.

Damn it, if that had been his mom’s purse there would have been a condom in it!

Now there was an idea…

“Give me a second,” he told Emma with a kiss, “I’ll be right back.”

And though Neal didn’t much like his plan, he had to do the thing he didn't want to now, so that he could get back to doing the thing he very much wanted to do in a moment. 

So even though he hadn’t opened the door since she left, he planned to run in and grab one out of the nightstand, because he knew she had them in her nightstand, and then get back to Emma as quickly as possible.

And it wouldn’t be an invasion of privacy, and it wouldn’t be snooping, and when his mom got back she probably wouldn’t even notice. So he steeled his nerve, pushing open the door, because he had to do this for Emma.

And he froze.

Because he had promised Emma he wasn’t going to freak out. So he wasn’t going to freak out.

“Babe, what’s taking so long?” he heard her call from the couch.

But his feet were still glued to the floor, his brain trying to process what he was seeing in front of him.

“Neal, is everything alright?” he heard Emma ask, sneaking up behind him and wrapping arms around his waist, standing on her toes to rest her chin lightly on his shoulder. 

And he had promised her he wouldn’t freak out.

So he wouldn’t freak out.

Except…

He was kind of freaking out.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four: Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know technically Intermission comes either right before they break up or right after, but I needed another Emma chapter here because the next chapter is Your Fault and I think we can all agree that's a Neal chapter title if I've ever heard one.

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Intermission**

Emma wasn’t sure at first what she was looking at, as they stood in the doorway of the big empty room at the end of the hall. But slowly, as Neal failed to snap out of it, she started to piece things together.

That was Neal’s mother’s room. And he didn’t open that door. And he had been going in there to get a condom, so clearly he had thought there was going to be something in there. And there wasn’t. Not a single thing. 

“Babe?” she said, trying to turn him to look at her and away from that empty room, but he stood, content to stare, his face completely unreadable and a little frightening. 

And she really had no clue how to handle this. Loss, sure, she’d been through loss. But this felt more like a betrayal. At least everyone who had ever left her had had the guts to say it to her face. 

So after several more failed attempts at comforting him, she began to gather up their things, dressing herself quickly, and then trying to at least tug him back into his t-shirt the way she would have dressed a protesting Henry. 

“Neal, we need to go,” she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turned and glared at her, and she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her, but it frightened her all the same. 

“Neal, you shouldn’t be here right now,” she urged, handing him his jeans, “Let’s go somewhere, anywhere, and talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled, stepping into his jeans and slipping his boots on his feet, before heading out the door without her. She hurried after him, glaring as he got into the driver seat.

“Get out.”

“No.”

“Neal Cassidy, get out of that car right now, you are not driving.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but with a little too much venom to be true. She had never heard a bigger lie in her life. 

“I’m not getting in the car until you let me drive,” she said, putting her foot down. He stared defiantly at her for a moment, the same Neal she had seen argue with his father time and time again. And just like with his father, the longer she stared back, unflinching, the more he seemed to soften.

Without another word, Neal climbed over the center console, pulling his knees to his chest and glaring out the window.

She must have asked him three or four times to put his seat belt on, but he was acting like he couldn’t hear her, so she reached over and grabbed it, buckling it around his knees while he cried quietly. 

She pulled into a McDonald’s and gas station at the halfway point, when she realized that both the car and Neal’s stomach were running on empty. He offered her a fist full of cash to pay for everything but she waved it away. When she asked him what he wanted at the drive-through window he wouldn’t answer, so she just had to make her best guess.

“Neal, will you just talk to me?” she asked, as she pulled back onto the highway.

“About what?” he asked, aggressively shoving a french fry into his mouth before turning to glare back out the window. 

“What do you mean about what?” she asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking my mom took all of the furniture out of her room.”

“Okay, maybe she wanted to get new furniture when she got back.”

It was false hope, but it was something.

He gave her a little huff as he ate a few more french fries, “My mom hasn’t bought new furniture since before I was born. She’s not coming back.”

“And how are you feeling about that?”

“How am I feeling?” he pondered, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. “I think I’m … mad.”

“Okay,” she said, “Let’s talk about that. Why are you mad?”

But he just turned up the radio and tuned her out.

So when they got back to the hospital parking lot, and she pulled into the space next to her car, she leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek. She was a little worried he would push her away, or ignore her completely, but he sighed and returned the gesture.

“I’m sorry I freaked out again,” he whispered. “I ruined a pretty perfect night.”

In Emma’s mind it wasn’t Neal who had ruined the perfect night, not even by a long shot. But like always, she kept that opinion to herself.

She looked at him sadly, “There will be other nights, Neal. Are you going to be okay to drive home?”

She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he clenched his jaw, the spitting image of his father. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, and though she knew he probably wasn’t, she couldn’t do much more than hope as she climbed into her own car and drove back to the Blanchard’s house. 

Snow was waiting up on the couch, the baby monitor clutched to her chest. “Oh, thank God, I was starting to worry you’d be out all night! How is Neal? Did you two work things out?”

And that was a really good question that Emma did not have any of the answers for. 

“Mrs. Gold had her baby,” Emma offered, because that was a thing that she did know.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Are you two… did you fix it?”

Emma shrugged, pushing past her sister and heading up the stairs to Henry’s nursery where he was fast asleep, in his little polka dot pajamas. He was so tiny and precious and vulnerable, and even though she knew he wouldn’t stay that way forever, though she knew it was an impossible wish, she wanted him to always be this small and happy.

She knew she shouldn't wake him, but she lifted him gently from his crib, holding him tightly to her chest as she sunk back into his rocking chair. He sniffled for a moment, readjusting to his new spot before dozing back off peacefully, one tiny thumb shoved into his mouth, his other hand clutching at her shirt.

And she cried into his hair, rocking him back and forth.

“I will never leave you,” she whispered. “No matter how bad things get, I will never leave you.”


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five: Your Fault

_ “It's his father's fault that the curse got placed, and the place got cursed in the first place!” _

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Your Fault**

When Neal pulled up to his dad’s house, he hadn’t been expecting to see his dad’s car in the driveway. But he was glad it was here. He had been rehearsing what he wanted to say, running through the conversation over and over again in his head the whole drive home, and he was glad he didn’t have to wait another second. 

“Where the hell have you been?” his father roared before he even had a chance to open the door completely.

“Don’t yell at me!” Neal screamed back, “This is your fault! This is all your fault!”

“It’s my fault that you’re traipsing around in the middle of the night, doing God knows what or who, taking advantage of the fact that your stepmother and I took our eyes off you for one second?!”

“No, it’s your fault that she isn’t coming back! It’s your fault that I’m alone and my mom is gone!”

His dad paused.

“She’s cleaned out her room, her things are gone! She even took the furniture!”

He watched it click. “And you stole your stepmother’s purse? You are not making this better for yourself, Baelfire!”

“I didn’t take anything that wasn’t mine! And this isn’t about me! She’s gone for good this time, really gone, and it’s all your fault!”

His father softened, “Bae, I’m sorry your mother-”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You were a terrible husband and a terrible father and you have no business starting another family when you couldn’t even keep your first one together. You cheated on mom and fucked off out of my childhood. You never wanted me or mom, and now you’ve got the balls to get mad at me because this is all just a little inconvenient for you and your new family.”

His father winced. “Can I talk now?”

“No, I’m not done! You were a liar and a dick, and if you hadn’t fucked things up so badly she’d still be here! She wouldn’t have to run halfway around the world to get away from your memory! She wouldn’t have to leave behind her only son because he reminds her too much of you. You ruined her life and now you’ve ruined mine!”

“You’re being dramatic,” his father said with a sigh.

“Well, I’d say you raised me that way, pops, but you didn't. You didn’t raise me any kind of way because you were never there!”

“Is it my turn now?”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say!”

“Well I’m going to say it anyways! You are right, about part of it. You’re right that I was a terrible husband to your mother. But she wasn’t a very good wife either, Bae, and I know you don’t want to hear this, but things weren't working on either end. So yes, I could have been better, more faithful, more loving, but she could have too. We were children when we met, younger than you and Emma are now, and we didn’t know what we wanted. We had no business bringing you into that mess, but I thank God everyday that we did. Because you’re wrong about the other part, Bae, I did not just fuck off. I have always wanted you.”

And Neal, still seething with rage, shook his head in disbelief. Because, really? Seventeen years and he had seen his father for maybe five of them, max. He got the occasional call on his birthday and Christmas, and an invite in the mail to his and Belle’s wedding, but that wasn’t the same thing as having a dad.

“Bae, when I left your mother I never planned on leaving you. I wanted to share custody with Milah but she was having none of it and I was too young and stupid to get a lawyer. And then, when you were five, and she went off to Vegas, do you remember that? You were so small, and filthy, and it scared me half to death. And I got a lawyer then. But so did she. And it became incredibly clear that the only way I was ever going to win was if I dragged your mother through the mud. And I could have, Bae, she provided plenty of mud. It wouldn’t have been hard to take you away and I really wanted to. But you were a little boy, and you loved your mother more than the world, and I couldn’t rip that away from you. Because you needed her more than I needed to be right. So I sent checks, more than the court told me too, by the way. But Baelfire needed a bike, and he needed school supplies, and he broke his leg so he needed a cast. So I sent them. And I’m not sure if you ever saw a red cent of those checks, but I sent them anyway on the off chance that you needed something, because I never wanted you to need anything. And I’m sorry that this isn’t what you wanted, being here with Belle and me. I’m sorry that your mother let you down again. But it’s what I wanted. It’s what I’ve wanted for a very long time.”

“That’s bullshit,” Neal huffed. “That’s complete bullshit! Cause I wanted for a lot pops, and none of it would ever come from those checks. I wanted a father who was there, and a mother who wasn’t a drunken mess because the aforementioned father went off and married a child.”

“Be very careful with your next words,” his father warned, his tone shifting from sympathetic to something much darker. 

“About Belle? She’s a child, pops! A fucking teenager! She’s practically my age! Do you know how creepy that is? By the time she was born you already knew mom! And you expect me to come here and act like she has any authority over me? Yeah, right. Maybe I’ll ask her to sign my high school yearbook, but for all those big mom decisions she’s trying to make, no thanks, I’m good. I’ve got a mom. An age appropriate one.”

“Don’t you dare,” his father hissed, “say another word about that woman.”

“I don’t know what  _ woman _ you’re talking about,” Neal spit back. “You thought you and mom were too young to get married, what about Belle, huh?”

“Right, because Baelfire is so smart, he knows everything! You’re the only one to ever think of that! You don’t think I’m not afraid? You don’t think I’m not scared every day that she’ll change her mind about me and take our son with her like Milah did? The difference is, or at least I have to tell myself it is, your mom and I, collectively, didn’t have half the dignity and grace and maturity Belle has.”

“Sure pops, you just keep telling yourself that. That’ll make it better.”

“Do you know what she’s been through for you Baelfire? Do you have any idea, the shit she has been through for you? Can you even begin to fathom the amount that you owe that poor woman? Do you remember when you first met Belle? Because I do, and it’s not a very nice story.”

Neal did remember, but he wasn't sure what his dad was talking about.

“You were fourteen and your mom got arrested.”

“She was on a cruise.”

“Grow up! She got arrested and she called me to come get you because you were home alone! And I was in New York and I couldn’t get a flight out till the next day. So I called the woman I had just started dating and asked her to come get you. She had no clue I had an ex-wife, much less a teenage son, but that’s a hell of a way to find out, Bae!"

"I didn't know that," Neal mumbled. "That she didn't know about us. She didn't have to do that."

"No, she didn't," his father continued, "And how would you know any of it? You never talk to us! And that's fine Bae, be mad if you want to, but I will not listen to you slander Belle when she has done so much for us. She heard I had a son in need and she didn’t even blink! She got in her car and she came to get you and she stayed with you until I could get home. And you were a brat to her that whole time. You just wanted your mom back and she did everything to distract you, she took you for ice cream and to movies. She was the one who thought we should tell you that your mom was on a cruise. Instead of the truth: which was that Milah was in jail and she couldn’t even act right long enough to get back to her son, because they kept having to extend her sentence. Is any of this ringing a bell?”

And yeah, some of it was. Bits and pieces. He remembered the ice cream.

“And then, when someone needed to take you back, and Milah insisted it wouldn’t be me because she didn’t want to see me, who got in their car again and drove you back? Who waited and met her brand new boyfriend’s ex-wife? And Milah was so nasty to her, because your mother isn’t a very nice person, Bae, in case you didn’t know that. And not once did Belle hold any of that against you or me. Because she is a saint.”

And Neal did remember some of that. He remembered Belle sitting on the couch with him, ankles crossed, hands folded primly in her lap over her red and black plaid skirt. He remembered that she’d asked him about his schoolwork and his sketchbooks. She’d made him dinner - spaghetti with garlic bread - while they waited. And then when his mom finally got home he remembered an argument outside of the trailer, but he didn’t remember what it had been about or what was said. Just that Belle had driven off and his mom had come back in and hugged him and she’d curled up next to him on his bed that was really a couch and they’d slept next to each other that night. 

“I’m not going to take back what I said,” Neal hissed, even though he knew he probably should. “It doesn’t change the fact that _you_ don’t care about me at all.”

“I don’t care?!” His father roared “Baelfire Malcolm Gold! Your stepmother is in the hospital right now with my newborn son, and I should be there with her, but instead I came home to check on my idiot of a first child who wants to act like the world revolves around him all the time. You want to be an adult, Bae? You want to go back and live in that trailer - my trailer by the way, I paid for all of it - that’s fine. You’re only three months short of eighteen, we’ll call them a practice run, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. You need money, that’s fine too, I’ll send it like I've always done. Do what you want. But I’m done with your bullshit and I will not let Belle bring Gideon home to a house full of it! So pull your head out of your ass or go pack your bag. Because, honestly, NEAL, I will not lose any sleep over it if you’re not here in the morning.”

And then his dad was leaving to stomp up the stairs, and none of this had gone how Neal had expected, but he was crying and he wanted a hug and his mom and to rewind back a couple hours to not open that door.

“Oh, and Neal,” his dad said, pausing on the stairs to turn back, “I love you because you are my son. I will always love you. Because I have to. But that woman, who I’m so thankful is not here right now to hear the disrespect you have shown her tonight, she loves you because she chooses to. And honestly, some days, I’m not really sure why. And since you seem so determined to follow in my impulsive footsteps, you’ll probably be a stepfather very soon. And maybe then you can understand a fraction of the sacrifice she has made for you.”

And then he was gone and Neal just didn’t know what to do.

In the past when he’d fought with his dad he could run to his mother. And when he’d fought with his mother he could always call his dad. But now he had neither. And he didn’t know what to do.

What he did know, almost immediately, was that he shouldn’t have said half of that.

When he had first come here, back in August, Belle had taken one look at Neal’s clothes and taken him shopping for things that fit for the first time in his life. She’d insisted on a haircut too. When he complained he didn’t have friends she had put him in her play, as a lead no less, despite having no acting experience or gratitude. She had stayed up late to help him with his English homework when he struggled with public school; she had made him his favorite foods and a few newer, healthier meals too; she had even gushed over his sketches and bragged to her friends about the work he’d done on the sets. She had tried to talk him through every up and down with Emma, and she even tried to fix the decade long rift between him and his father. 

And when he thought about what he said he realized he had no right to call her a child. 

Because he was a child. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up in the hospital, begging with the late-night front desk clerk to let him in, but here he was, and no he wasn’t going home until they would just listen to him.

“I know my name’s not on the list, see my real name-”

“Your name’s on the list, kid, Neal Cassidy, it’s right here. That’s not the problem. The problem is visiting hours are over.”

“I know. I know. I just really need you to make an exception, just this one time. If you could just let me see my mom, I really need to see my mom right now.”

And finally they relented, when it became abundantly clear that he was not going away, and a nurse led him down the little hallway and into the big sterile room where Belle was sitting in her hospital bed, holding Gideon.

“Neal-” but that was all she was able to get out before he was hugging her and crying, his arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried in her stomach, as he knelt next to the hospital bed. "Sweetie, is everything okay?"

He nodded, looking up at her. And then with a shake of his head, "No. I'm sorry. For everything."

"That's a lot of things to apologize for all at once, honey," she laughed, ruffling his hair. "It's okay, stop crying, it's going to be okay."

“I love you, mom,” he managed to choke out through the tears. 

“I love you too, Neal,” she whispered.

And so even though she was confused, even though she had so many questions, she sat there and held her sons. In her right arm, the one she gave birth to, and in her left, the one she didn’t.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six: Last Midnight

_ “Had to get your wish, doesn't matter how, anyway, it doesn't matter now. It's the last midnight.” _

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Last Midnight**

Emma tried to call Neal the next day to check on him, but he didn’t pick up his phone. Which was really weird for Neal, because he always picked up his phone. She hadn’t exactly expected him to be in school, but his absence at lunch had still made her worry.

She also knew that Mrs. Gold obviously wouldn’t be there for dress rehearsal, but she was still a little bit stunned by the flyer taped to the locked auditorium door.

“ _ The play and all of it’s rehearsals will be postponed. More information will be provided at a later date _ .”

But then Tuesday arrived and he still wasn’t there. They made an announcement over the PA system to congratulate The Gold Family on their new baby. Students cheered, all of them eager to know when their favorite teacher would return, but it just made Emma incredibly nervous. 

Finally, on Wednesday she got a call from Neal. It wasn’t as long as she would have liked, but he explained that he was sorry to have ignored her, things at home had been hectic to say the least, and it was going to be a week or two before he’d really get a chance to talk. He hoped that was okay. It wasn’t, but Emma wasn’t about to tell him that. 

And so winter break arrived and everyone cleaned out their lockers, eagerly chatting about their big plans for the holidays. And Emma was a little sad, because she didn’t have any big plans at all. With Henry’s daycare also being closed, she couldn’t even join her sister and their friends on their adventures. Which was probably for the better, Killian’s number had been firmly blocked in her phone again because he would not leave her alone. He was sorry. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. If she would just give him a chance to explain. If she would like to look at his phone now, she could. 

But Emma was still a little confused about what had happened between her and Neal, and despite not wanting to get her hopes up, she did want to keep a spot open in her life, just in case.

On Christmas Eve the extended Blanchard family came to visit and Emma was forced to give up her room to share with Henry. Of course she and Henry were included in all their family traditions and celebrations, but she found it hard to muster up the energy for them. Still, she didn’t want to be rude, so she curled up in her pajamas, Henry in her lap and hot coco in her hand, watching It’s A Wonderful Life with the rest of her foster family.

About halfway through the movie, the doorbell rang, Mrs. Blanchard scurrying off to get it.

“Emma, you have a visitor,” she called from the foyer. 

And there was Neal, a big grin on his face and an even bigger shopping bag draped on his arm. She stood there stunned for a moment.

“You don’t have to invite me in,” he laughed, “but I brought presents, so it might be rude not to.”

“Well, that’s hardly a fair choice, isn’t it?” she said, crossing her arms with a skeptical grin.

“I know,” he laughed, “That’s why I brought the gifts.”

Emma was soon to discover, as they slipped upstairs into Henry’s nursery, that most of the gifts weren’t actually for her. They watched her excited toddler tear paper from toys as if gold would be buried inside. Henry was overjoyed at all the bright colors and new textures of the toys, but mostly he just wanted to play with the boxes they came in. 

“Look how happy he is,” she said, leaning against Neal’s shoulder, “How’s your brother?”

“Kinda squishy. Not very cute at all.”

“They normally aren’t for a couple weeks,” she laughed. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

“Better,” he said with a quiet nod, reaching out to take the cardboard out of Henry’s mouth before turning back to her, “I was upset, but I’m also a little bit relieved. Because now I know. I’ve spent the last couple months not really knowing where I was going and what I was doing, and so while this wasn’t what I hoped for, it’s nice to have a direction. It means I can start making plans.”

“Yeah? Have you heard from her?”

“No. I think my pop has, but we haven’t really talked about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbled.

“Hey, no, don’t be. Cause we’ve had lots of other stuff to talk about.”

“What kind of stuff?”

He shrugged, “The past. The present. The future. I think I’m going to take a gap year next year. We talked a little about me going back out to mom's trailer, but I don’t think I want to do that. I think I’m going to stay here and help out with the baby, cause he’s a handful. I mean, he’s only two weeks old, but pop says he’s a lot like me in that he cries a lot. And if that’s not the only thing the two of us have in common, things will only get worse from there.”

She laughed. “So you're going to stay in Storybrooke?”

He nodded, “For a year at least. Until I figure some stuff out.”

“So, not that Henry doesn’t love his gifts, but why did you come here, Neal?”

“Because I wanted to see you. Because we left things kind of crazy.”

Crazy was a very big understatement.

“Emma, I’m staying in town. And I’d like if we could just forget the last couple months and start over. I was an ass, and I thought I was being helpful by letting you go, but I was just being an idiot. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. So what do you say?” he asked, extending his hand, “Hi. My name’s Neal. I’m an Aries with some family baggage, and I like hot coffee, stargazing, and long walks on the beach.”

She smiled, taking his hand in hers and shaking it. “Hi, Neal. I’m Emma. I’m a single mother with a chip on her shoulder. And I like you.”

And so he kissed her, just a quick peck because Henry was right there, but it settled the butterflies in her stomach, looking into his thundercloud grey eyes and seeing the calm after the storm for the first time. 

“Oh, and I meant what I said, if you want to come celebrate Christmas with me and my family, you’re welcome to!”

She didn’t know what she had been expecting when she arrived at the Gold house the next morning, Henry bundled up in all his winter clothes and angrily trying to remove his hat and boots. The Blanchards went all out for Christmas. Ingrid had cooked dinner and that was it.

When Neal opened the door, Emma was a little surprised by the mess. But he didn't give her time to adjust, or even take her shoes off, instead he was tugging her and Henry down the hall with an abundant amount of enthusiasm.

“Emma,” he said stopping outside the nursery door, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He opened the door quietly, exchanging a soft smile with Mrs. Gold, who sat holding Neal’s little brother in her arms.

She held a finger to her lips, “Shhhhhh.”

“This,” he whispered with a grand gesture, as if Mrs. Gold and his brother were the grand prize on a game show, “Is Gideon Maurice Gold. And don’t laugh at how stupid his name is, when he gets older I’m going to help him pick a new one.”

Mrs. Gold just smirked, “Okay, Baelfire.”

And for the first time since Emma had known him, he didn’t cringe at the name. 

Dinner was nothing to write home about, with Mrs. Gold too preoccupied with Gideon, Neal and his dad had been forced to attempt to cook it. They ended up ordering Chinese food instead. But they laughed and they shared and for the first time the Gold house felt like a home. 

The play ended up being postponed until the end of February, when Mrs. Gold could return from her maternity leave. Neal directed a few practices, and Mrs. Gold would come in with Gideon in his baby carrier to direct a few more on her own time, and everyone was overjoyed to see her and the baby. 

Emma and Neal spent long nights rehearsing their songs, letting Henry crawl between them while Neal held his brother, singing them like lullabies. They spent days not rehearsing too, but Neal had finally found the courage to tell her flat out that he wasn't ready. And that was okay, because they had time to wait now. So they slowly slipped back into their old dating routine of movies on the couch and dinners with their families. And of course trips to the park, this time with a new edition to their little caravan. 

One day, as Neal was buckling his brother into the car seat in the back of his dad’s car, Henry cheerfully kicking in the car seat next to them, Neal paused, patting his pocket.

“Emma, I think I left my wallet inside, it’s got my license in it,” he said, looking concerned and a little confused as he went back to messing with the straps on his brother’s car seat. “Can you go grab it for me?”

“Sure,” she said, climbing back out of the passenger seat and offering him a kiss on the cheek. “Where is it?”

“Probably my dad’s office. He was helping me set up a direct deposit for the store yesterday.”

So she went back in, a little nervous to climb the stairs into his parent’s private space, but hoping that the office would be abandoned so that she could just grab his wallet and leave.

It wasn’t.

At first she thought Mr. Gold must have been talking to his wife, but then she heard Mrs. Gold’s singing voice, carrying from the kitchen downstairs, and she paused. Who else would Neal’s dad be arguing with?

“You want to blame me, that’s fine, I’ll take the blame. Trust me, I’ll take the boy, too. But this is really important to him!”

A pause.

“And I understand that, but sometimes we have to make sacrifices for our children.”

Another pause.

“He is a child, Milah, whether you treat him like one or not. And he really wants his damn mother at this play.”

Emma’s face felt hot. She should go back to the car. But without Neal’s wallet, she ran the risk of him coming up to get it instead. And that would have been worse.

“Well, I hope your new boyfriend has money, Milah, because you will not be getting another cent of alimony from me if you don’t come through for him one last time before he turns eighteen. And I don’t care, you can take me to court if you like, but this is a hill I am willing to die on.”

The call ended and his dad came out into the hall, seeing her standing there, looking conflicted and a little shocked.

“Emma,” Mr. Gold nodded as he pushed past her.

“Mr. Gold,” she responded with another nod, making her way into the office. 

She didn’t bring it up to Neal as she slid back into the passenger side of the car, handing him his wallet with a forced smile. He hadn’t mentioned his mom to her in a few weeks, and selfishly, she was a little eager to keep it that way.

The last midnight before opening night they stayed up well into the night running lines, nervously awaiting their acting debuts. From their first lines in the opening scene to the very last verse in her song at the end of the play, they went through it all, and then again a second time just to be sure.

And then it was the day of, and they were backstage being shoved into costumes as stage hands and actors alike ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. Chaos and noise. And Neal.

“Break a leg, baby,” he whispered with a kiss as the stage lights dimmed. 

“Stop kissing my husband,” Snow laughed, tugging on Neal's arm as she pulled him after her onto the stage, Emma, August, and Robin scurrying to follow and find their marks. 

She shuffled her skirts around her legs as she sat down on stage right, looking down at the floor. Don’t look at the audience until the music begins, she warned herself, taking a few steadying breaths.

There was applause, and she could feel her heart pounding in her throat as the lights were brought back up again to reveal the actors.

“Once upon a time…” August began.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven: No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that started all this. Sorry I made you read thirty chapters just so I had an excuse to make Neal Cassidy say the line, "No more curses you can’t undo, left by fathers you never knew." But that's where we are.

_ “Running away - we'll do it. Why sit around, resigned? Trouble is, son, the farther you run, the more you feel undefined: for what you've left undone and, more, what you've left behind.” _

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: No More**

Turns out the hardest part about acting was not actually watching the masterpiece unfold in front of him. There were so many scenes where Neal had to hold still - sleeping under a tree, freezing while action happened elsewhere on stage - and it was all he could do not to laugh and clap along with the audience. 

Because it was really good. They had worked hard for this and it was really good.

His sets were amazing. He couldn’t believe how well they held up as the other actors danced through trees, pulling on the branches, playing and hiding around them like a real forest. He felt his heart sore as Rapunzel’s tower rose from the back of the stage, spinning to reveal Kathryn and her song, just the way he had envisioned it, working perfectly. He even heard a few gasps from the audience, most of them stunned into silence at the majesty of it. For a high school production, his sets were really good.

And he was really good, too. Turns out the role of well-meaning, bumbling husband was one Neal was born to play and so he had the audience in stitches with only a few looks and gestures. Like the hurt face he made when The Baker’s Wife announced that “ _ what matters is the size… of the lie of course _ .” Or the way he frantically gestured to Jack to stop talking as Jack recounted the story of the gold coins to The Baker’s Wife. Neal was a natural, and he was surprised at how quickly he was able to relax into the role and have fun with it. 

He even caught a smirk from his father in the front row when August asked, “ _ How badly do you want a child _ ?”

And Neal responded with, “ _ I’ve not thought to put a price on it. _ ”

August answered back, “ _ Exactly, you’ve not thought of many things, have you, son? _ ”

And of course Emma was gorgeous. He stood in the wings with Belle, watching her and Snow as they sang A Very Nice Prince and he was so proud of her. He knew she often felt left behind and unspecial compared to Snow. She had mentioned on more than one occasion that she was the inferior sister, not nearly as pretty or popular as Mary Margaret. But here she was, covered from head to toe in glitter and blonde curls, looking every bit the princess that she was, while her sister sang about how much she envied the maiden in the ball gown. And he wondered if maybe Belle had done that on purpose. 

And then Act Two arrived and all his fear came crashing back. Because Act Two hit just a little too close to home. No more silly laughs and upbeat songs. Act Two was where his character's arc really happened, and the weight of it was almost paralyzing to Neal.

“You’re going to do great,” Belle whispered, squeezing his hand as August took the stage for their final scene together as father and son. And Neal hoped he would do great, because this was his scene. He had other duets in the play, sure, but this was the most important.

It was his. 

And so as he stumbled out onto the stage, half acting, half really losing his footing with nerves he scanned the audience one more time, just in case. 

He had called to invite her, of course. He knew it was probably futile, but he had even reserved a seat in the front row for her right next to his dad.

But she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t there. 

But this wasn’t about her, and so he was going to sing anyway.

He and August exchanged their quick back and forth, August feeding him his cue.

“ _ I ran away from my guilt. Aren’t you doing the same thing? Aren't you running away? _ ”

Not anymore, he wasn’t. 

And as he sang his lines he thought back to that first day at practice, when Belle had asked him what he had in common with his character. And it wasn’t that he was trying. It wasn’t that he was determined, or stupid, or stubborn, or loyal. It was this right here.

As he turned to sing he met his father’s eyes, front and center in the first row with that damn empty seat beside him.

And Neal sang.

“ _ No more riddles. No more jests. No more curses you can’t undo, left by fathers you never knew. No more quests! No more feelings, time to shut the door, just… no more. _ ”

And then, as August began to sing, Neal watched as his father began to mouth the words along with him. And Neal realized that Milah hadn’t made it to one single practice. Hadn’t answered any of his phone calls. Hadn’t even sent a postcard. She’d moved her stuff out in the middle of the night without so much as telling him.

But Belle had been there for all of this. It had been her idea. She had pushed him and supported him and encouraged him to grow. And yeah, that was her job as his teacher, but wasn’t it also kind of Milah’s job too?

And his dad… well his dad had learned the lines and now Neal was having to try really hard not to cry, because for a moment everything else disappeared and it was the two of them.

Not acting, not singing. Just talking.

“ _ Running away? Let’s do it! Free from the ties that bind - no more despair or burdens to bear, out there in the yonder. Running away, go to it, where did you have in mind? Have to take care, unless there’s a where, you'll only be wandering blind. Just more questions - different kind.” _

Neal smiled, turning away from his father in the audience to look back at August, who would never understand how important that sentiment was. 

_ “Running away, we’ll do it! Why sit around resigned? The trouble is son, the farther you run, the more you feel undefined - for what you have left undone and more what you’ve left behind. _ ”

And if that wasn’t the three of them Neal didn’t know what was. His dad had run away, when things got too bad he had left, looking for people who could love him as much as he wanted to love them. And Milah too, she had run away a lot over Neal’s meager seventeen years. She always came back, but each time it was with more questions, more doubts. More negative things to say about his father that she heaped on Neal as if he were old enough to understand the complicated nuances of an adult relationship. 

And then there was Neal. And if ever there was a phrase that had described him the last couple months it was “wandering blind”. Undefined. Left Behind. He’d been so lost, and so negative, and he really didn’t like to be negative, that wasn’t him. But he hadn’t been able to answer any of his questions and now that he had the answers he wondered why they had even been so important to him in the first place. 

Like father; like son.

And so, as August finished, running off the stage, Neal sighed, putting his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands the way Belle had shown him during blocking. This was the moment that The Baker stepped up and took the role of The Narrator. He would tell the story to his son in the final scene, completing the journey. 

“ _ No more giants waging war _ ,” He began, letting his voice quiver. Who cared? It made sense for him to be emotional here. The audience would like it. “ _ Can’t we just pursue our lives with our children and our wives? _ ”

Here he stood, taking his hat off, gripping it so tightly he worried he was going to reshape it and not be able to get it back on in his next scene. But as he stepped forward to the edge of the stage he could see Felix and Peter giving him thumbs up from the other side of the empty seat. 

And so Neal continued triumphantly, “ _ Until that happy day arrives, how do you ignore all the witches? All the curses? All the wolves, all the lies, the false hopes, the goodbyes, the reverses? All the wondering what’s even worse that’s still in store? _ ”

And it was a pointless question, really. Because Neal was really good at being ignored. But he was also really good at ignoring things. He’d spent the last couple months ignoring the love Belle and his dad had for him. He’d ignored what Emma wanted because he was trying to give her what she needed. What he thought she needed. He’d ignored that nagging feeling that when something went right, it couldn’t last forever. 

He swept his eyes across the front row, looking at all the love he’d ignored. From his friends. From his family. From the two women waiting in the wings that Neal really didn’t deserve, but was thankful for all the same.

And then, lastly, he let his eyes drift over to the Blanchards, bouncing Henry who was reaching for him - he had been worried that the boy might not have been able to recognize him in his costume - but there he was, little toddler fingers opening and closing the way they always did when he wanted Neal to pick him up.

And so Neal continued, just for him.

“ _ Well, no more _ .”

And then he turned, putting his hat back on and striding off stage with purposeful, determined strides. 

The Baker was going back to his family.

And as Emma and Belle caught him behind the curtain, sweeping him into a big hug with tears in their eyes, Neal decided that he was too.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight: No One Is Alone

_ “Nothing's quite so clear now...Feel you've lost your way? You decide, but you are not alone. Believe me, no one is alone.” _

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: No One Is Alone**

Emma had five costume changes in this play and it left barely any time between scenes for her to relax and watch the rest of her classmates. Still, she was thankful, as Neal and Snow and Mrs. Gold would help her struggle into the next gorgeous gown, because most of them were gorgeous gowns, fixing her hair and assuring her that she was doing great.

And she was doing great, wasn’t she?

She was actually enjoying her time on stage with her sister, answering Snow’s ridiculous lines with a dry sort of sarcasm that she had spent her whole life perfecting. And though she didn’t actually exchange any dialogue with Neal until Act Two he was always there, just a couple feet away, either on stage or with Mrs. Gold in the wings, grinning proudly at his princess. 

She really did feel like a princess.

So when Act Two arrived and she had to give up the gorgeous gowns for the rags from the opening scene she was so much more comfortable, but a little sad to see them go. Still, Act Two was the part of her character’s arc that she had always loved - the part where Cinderella went from flighty maiden to independent woman. 

And it was the part where she got to share a song with Neal. 

So as the lights dimmed and he ran off the stage, sniffling as he hugged her and Mrs. Gold, she felt the knots twist in her stomach again.

This was it. This was her song. She had other songs in the play, sure, but this was the most important.

It was hers.

Technically, it was theirs, they sang it together, but she felt it in her heart and her soul and it was just… hers.

They had stayed up late last night practicing, singing it to Gideon and Henry until the two babies passed out. And still they kept going until eventually Mrs. Gold had come down stairs and told them that as much as she loved their enthusiasm, it was time for bed and no one could sleep with all that singing.

And so he’d walked her to the car, kissing her goodnight as he whispered, “Are you ready?”

She had shaken her head ‘no’, tears bursting through her eyes as she confided that she was scared she was going to forget every line. That she was going to panic and the audience would see. That she would forget the feelings and just turn into a robot up there just reciting lines with no soul in them.

That’s when Neal had his brilliant idea. And it was perfect. And it was all his.

So, as she and Ruby stepped out onto the stage, the audience staring expectantly up at her, she looked down at the little prop doll she was carrying in her arms and took in every detail of the picture Neal had taken last night, taped to the prop. A selfie of him holding Henry, and though it had taken some coaxing to get her sleepy son to smile at the camera and wave, both their smiles were so wide that she couldn’t help but swallow the lump in her throat. 

It was the perfect idea, but it wasn’t Henry she thought of as she looked across the stage to where she knew Neal was sitting, waiting for the spotlight to turn onto him.

And she began to sing.

“ _ Mother cannot guide you, now you’re on your own. Only me beside you, still you’re not alone. No one is alone. _ ”

And the words were just as much for him as they were for her. She had spent her whole life thinking she was fine, being on her own. She had never stopped to think about how, not for even one second, had she ever been alone. When she was little she had lived with Ingrid for thirteen long years, love and support that would stay with her long after Ingrid was gone. Dislike them as she may have, she had also had other foster parents, caseworkers, and teachers like Mrs. Gold rooting for her. When she lost Ingrid she had thought that she was truly alone. But that just wasn’t true.

“ _ Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood. Others may deceive you. You decide what’s good. You decide alone. But no one is alone. _ ”

She finished her verse, hugging Ruby and the little prop doll, very real teals dripping down her face, as they proceeded down stage, the light dimming as the spotlight jumped to Neal and Robin.

She could feel that Neal’s pauses were too long in their conversation - knew that he was choking back very real emotions, but it felt so genuine she could also feel the audience on the edge of their seats, watching him as his speech came to a close.

He threw up his arms with a shaky shout, “ _ I don’t know! Stop asking me questions I can’t answer! _ ”

And then their voices were mixing together across the stage and she knew they were both crying and she could see Henry in the front row, reaching for her. Which made it harder to sing, but inspired her to keep going.

“ _ Mother isn’t here now, _ ” she sang, “ _ who knows what she’d say? _ ”

“ _ Wrong things, right things, who can say what’s true? _ ” Neal answered back from across the stage.

And Ruby was holding her hand, which they hadn’t talked about in blocking, but they both knew she needed it. Because she had been so blind thinking she was alone in all this.

Looking out to the audience again as she let her voice carry, she could see The Blanchards beaming proudly at her, and she was thankful for all their support. She could see Neal’s dad, torn between watching her and his son as they poured their hearts into the song, stopping only for the air necessary to carry them to the next line.

“ _ People make mistakes. Fathers, mothers, people make mistakes. Holding to their own. Thinking they're alone, _ ” they sang together, “ _ But no one is alone. _ ”

“ _ Honor their mistakes _ ,” she sang with a shaky smile in his direction.

“ _ Fight for their mistakes _ ,” he sang back, his eyes soft and a little bit red around the edges. 

She smiled out at Henry, the most perfect mistake she had ever made. Her grinning toddler, who hadn’t cried once during the performance, was so excited to see his mother in sparkling glitter and shiny jewelry, now bouncing up and down to the sound of her voice. Without a doubt, she knew, he would never be alone either. She would make sure of that. 

Traditionally, the song was cut short in the production, by the arrival of the giant. However, Mrs. Gold had made the decision to have them finish the song before ending the scene, and Emma was thankful for that. Looking over to Neal, she could see that he was crying too. And that made her feel even less alone.

And then Ruby and Robin were joining, “ _ Someone is on your side, someone else is not. While we’re seeing our side, maybe we forgot. They are not alone. No one is alone. _ ”

And that was true too. Because the last couple months she and Neal had been caught up in ‘their sides’ so much that they’d missed the forest for the trees. They’d spent so long being angry, at their parents, the universe, and each other, that they had forgotten to open their eyes to the people trying to help them. Too focused on the people who left them alone to notice those who hadn’t. 

So Emma took a deep shaky breath, holding Neal’s gaze as she had been expressly instructed to do during blocking, and knowing that whatever was coming, they would always be there for each other. Even if life tore them apart, these past months would stay with them. And through the unbreakable bond of memory, she would always have him with her. And he, with her. 

The lights brightened, bringing the whole stage into focus as they finished together, “ _ No one is alone. _ ”


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine: Children Will Listen

_ “Children will look to you for which way to turn, to learn what to be. Careful before you say, ‘Listen to me.’ Children will listen.” _

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Children Will Listen**

Belle had chosen to go with the less traditional bow at the end, having all her characters strike a pose on the final note of the last song, slowly breaking away from the group to have their own moment with the audience. She started with the stepsisters, working her way up to the more important characters.

And everyone made it their own.

Robin bowed the deepest, a formal bend from the waist.

Ruby gave a little skip and a hop before her curtsy, swishing her skirts off stage.

Emma stood, stunned into silence at her applause, before remembering to bow and rush back to the wings.

Killian leapt forward, with a grin and a wink.

August spread his arms wide, drinking in the sound of the applause for a moment before giving a quick little nod and making his exit.

And so Neal was left kneeling till his knees ached, until finally he watched Snow dance around him, a quick curtsy, and then it was his turn.

He stood up, stepping forward to the roar of the audience, clasping his hands together with a warm smile, and he bowed in thanks. To the friends and family who had come to support him. To the strangers who were clapping and cheering. To his stepmother, now standing next to his father and friends in the front row, cheering the loudest of all. 

He could hear them continue to roar from the dressing rooms backstage as everyone else quickly stripped off their costumes and headed out to greet their families.

Neal hung back, looking at himself in the mirror. He could see his mother’s uncontrollable curls. The two little lines between his eyes that his father also got when he was angry or confused. He could see a lot there too that was uniquely his, independent of their flaws and features. He had come a long way, and yet he still wasn’t ready for the crowd, so instead he chose to sneak out through the emergency exit around back, sinking down against the wall of the parking lot.

He just needed to get away from the bright fluorescent lights inside and the proud, glowing smiles of parents as they greeted their kids.

Why hadn’t she come?

He hadn’t expected her to, he lied to himself, but it would have been nice. She had left before, but it had never felt so permanent. Like she was really gone for good this time. 

“Belle said flowers were tradition,” his dad said, setting the bouquet down next to him, before bending down to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Neal. He looked ridiculous in his suit. At least in his undershirt and forehead glistening with sweat from the stage lights, Neal looked like he belonged out here on the asphalt.

“Thanks pop,” Neal mumbled. Because he was working really hard on compartmentalizing, and his dad wasn’t really the one he was upset with. The flowers were nice, though he didn’t really want them. “How’d you know I was out here?”

“When you were little and we’d take you to dive bars - don’t look at me like that - when you were little, you’d get overwhelmed and sneak out the back. I figured tonight wouldn’t be any different.”

“I know you were young, but you guys were really bad parents,” Neal laughed.

“I know,” his dad chuckled back. “We were learning as we went and neither one of us were as bright as you are. Some days I have to wonder if you’re really my son, because you’re so much smarter than I was at your age. And then you throw a temper tantrum and all my doubts are erased.”

Neal laughed. 

“I also know that your mother and I, both, have always loved you to the best of our abilities. We still do. I’m sorry she wasn’t here to see your play tonight.”

“What did you think?”

“I liked the part near the end.”

“My song?”

“Yes. Also, the part where you told Jack he was going to have to start taking care of himself now that his mother was gone. That it was time.”

Neal nodded, looking away again.

“Listen to me, son, you’re getting to an age where it doesn’t matter if your mother is here or not.”

No, it didn’t really matter. But he had hoped all the same. Because it didn’t matter how old you were, you were always going to want your mother. Always going to grieve her loss more than most. Even if her loss was her choice.

“I just wish…”

“I know.”

“She’s really not coming back is she?” Neal asked, rubbing his hands over the back of his head, anger boiling inside him. 

“I’m afraid not, son,” his dad said, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” Neal asked.

His dad sighed and Neal immediately regretted that question. Because he really, really didn’t want to know the answer.

“When she dropped you off back in August, I asked her how many child support payments I could expect to be saving. And she told me that I could just stop paying those. So I knew she would be gone until at least March.”

He looked up at his dad, hot tears streaming down his face. Because he was glad his dad hadn’t told him. He was glad that he hadn’t been robbed of that hope too soon or he would have just given up. If he had known his mom wasn’t coming back for him there would have been no play, no Emma, no anything that he had worked so hard for over the last couple months, trying to keep his promise to her.

His dad sighed and continued, “I didn’t really know she was gone for good until that night you came home yelling about the furniture. I guess I was being a hopeful fool, but I really thought, after all these years of prying the two of us apart, that there was no way she would leave her son with me for longer than a year. I wanted her to come back, Neal. And not because I don’t want you here, I’ve loved having you here these last couple months despite your many challenges, but I wanted her to come back because I knew it would break your heart if she didn’t.”

“I don’t need her!” Neal yelled, overcome with a sudden urge to break something.

“You don’t,” his father assured him, “You are so much more than her. And you are so much more than me. And if Gideon grows up to be half the man you are, I will consider myself twice to be the world’s luckiest father.”

Neal sniffled, burying his head in his father’s chest as his dad encased him in a tight hug. Letting him cry like that for a while, other families passing on their way to their cars with bouquets and happy conversations, occasionally stopping to cast a glance their way and then hurry on without another word. Other families were happy right now. But the Golds had never been a normal family, had they?

Finally Neal pulled himself together long enough to take a deep breath and sit back up, wiping at his eyes.

“Come on pops, don’t wish that on Gideon. I’m not a good kid. I’m not even going to college next year.”

“No, you’re not, but maybe the year after. It doesn’t matter, Neal, because you’ve got something most people will never have. And that’s a good heart. Everyday I watch you get up and give it your best. And no, some days your best isn’t very good, no one’s ever is all the time, but you try harder than anyone I’ve ever seen and I am so proud of you.”

“Proud of what?” Neal chuckled, sitting up and offering a half smile, “That I’m not dead or in jail?”

“Neal, there is so much to be proud of you for and you don’t even see it. When Belle first enrolled you in school she warned me that I would have to be okay with Cs and Ds, because most home-school kids can’t make the transition. But I’ve never had to settle for anything less than that eighty-seven you brought home on your calc test last month. And Emma, God, that one scares the holy hell out of me. But I’m proud of you for how much you’ve managed to look past the flaws and help someone who is just as lost as you. It reminds me of Belle a little bit, the way you’ve stepped up for her and her son, even though you didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I kept my grades up and got a girlfriend, whoop-de-doo!” Neal said halfheartedly, “Half the school is doing that, pops.”

“What about this play? You were fantastic out there, and Belle couldn’t have done it without you,” his father said, starting to choke up, “She tells me every day how much help you’ve been to her this first year. Cause she’s been having a rough year too, you know? First year teaching, and the baby, and you - but you have been really helpful to her.”

“I’ve been some other things too,” Neal said sadly.

“Trust me, I’m well aware. But Belle isn’t.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Neal asked hopefully, “What I said the night Gideon was born? Did you?”

His father shook his head. “You would not be the first Gold man to say something you didn't mean in anger, son. Let’s try and make sure you’re the last. We’ve got to do better with Gideon.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of it. I just couldn’t… I got so mad and nothing else mattered. Except I wanted to make someone else hurt as much as I did. I’m such a dick.”

“Yeah, well, we could sit here and list your flaws all day. Mine too. And I’m sure half of them would be on both lists. But I expected flaws this year, Neal. What I didn’t expect was to see how much of a man you’ve grown into. With or without your mother’s and my help.”

His dad squeezed his shoulder, pressing a light kiss to his temple.

“I love you, son.”

“Love you too, pops.”

“Now what do you say Belle and I take our star actor out for a nice dinner to celebrate? You want to bring Emma?”

“I think the Blanchards are taking her and Snow to Granny’s tonight,” Neal said with a bit of a shrug, “But maybe tomorrow. We’ve spent a lot of time this last month talking about what comes next, and with your permission, I’d really like to start including her in those conversations.”


	30. Chapter Thirty: Finale

_ “Into the woods you have to go, but that's the way you learn to cope. Into the woods to find there's hope of getting through the journey.” _

**Chapter Thirty: Finale**

**One Year Later**

“Hey, baby, what about this one?” Neal called to her through the little window into the kitchen. “Come take a look!”

Emma sighed, “Neal, I will burn dinner if you keep calling me over there so much, the point of a laptop is that you can bring it here.”

“Yeah, but then I have to get up, I’d rather just eat a burnt dinner.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, turning the stove down to a simmer and making her way out to the little living room where he sat, searching for colleges at the dining room table. She squealed with surprise as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her onto his lap as he showed her the pictures of fountains and brick buildings. 

“This one is in Tallahassee,” he told her with a grin. 

“It’s nice,” she said with a nod, trying to get away as he kept her pinned against him.

“Yeah, all the fountains are legally pools, so security can’t pull you out of them,” he said with a grin. “Can’t you just picture me and Henry, playing in the fountains?”

“Pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to pick a college,” she sighed, finally escaping his grip and making it back to the kitchen. “Have you looked into what majors they offer?”

His face popped up in the little window, smiling as he watched her cook. “I’m sure their Cryptozoology program is just as good as any of the other schools I've applied to.”

That was his newest joke. There was lots of debate in the Gold house about what Neal should do with his future. Mr. Gold wanted him to pick something broad and practical, like business, so he didn’t box himself in with an overly specific degree. Mrs. Gold noted that Neal was never happier than when he was being creative: singing, painting, working with his hands. She wanted him to find a more specific career that would make him happy. Emma tried to combine the practical with the passion and had suggested architecture since Neal loved designing and building stage sets for his stepmother. It had surprised her when he had sent applications to two schools known for their architecture programs. ‘Cause Neal was still very much on the fence about any of it. So every now and then, he would tell them he had picked his major. He would get very serious and quiet and they would all anxiously await his big decision. And then he would offer them something ridiculous like Underwater Basket Weaving or Auctioneering. It was about as funny as the way he introduced Emma as his ‘baby mama’ every time she met one of his dad’s business associates. But at least Neal could always make himself laugh. 

“Hey, say you’ll come with me to college, baby,” he said, reaching through the window to grab a cherry tomato off the counter and pop it into his mouth. 

“I said I’d think about it,” she mumbled, giving the pasta a final stir before turning off the stove and reaching for plates. 

“No, don’t say that,” he said with a pout. “Cause that just means ‘no’. Say you'll come with me.”

“There’s a lot to think about, Neal, like my job, where we would live, Henry’s daycare.”

He shrugged. “You’re a waitress. You can do that anywhere. And pops is paying for the apartment. Plus, I’m not going to be in school all day, so you’d really only have to put Henry in daycare part time. Please, come with me to Tallahassee.”

“So it’s Tallahassee now?” she giggled, walking around the counters to set their dinners down on the table. “Last week it was California.”

He grinned, pulling her into a kiss, and then pausing thoughtfully. “Is it just me or has it been suspiciously quiet for too long?”

“Henry?” she yelled, pushing Neal away as he followed her to the back bedroom, pushing open the door a little wider to reveal a mess.

“Damn it, Neal,” she hissed, “I told you, you have to put the lids on those really tightly!”

“I painted!” Henry cheered, his face smeared in colors. His clothes and carpet and wall also smeared in colors. “Just like daddy!”

“Calm down baby, they’re non-toxic,” Neal said with a grin, “Come on little man, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Not uh,” Emma said, snatching her little boy off the floor, “I will clean the toddler. You will clean this mess.”

And so as she scrubbed at Henry in the bathroom tub she listened to Neal sing through the wall as he cleaned up the room, trying his best to salvage a security deposit that had been gone the moment she handed it over. 

She had worried when he first started his gap year that it was going to turn into him sitting on his computer all day very quickly. But surprisingly, he was making the most of it. He had started working about thirty hours a week in one of his dad’s shops. At first he was just restoring the antique furniture they brought in, but his dad quickly moved him up front when he realized that Neal could sell a spinning wheel to sleeping beauty if he wanted to. Lately, he’d been opening the shop in the mornings for his dad, too.

He had also taken up volunteering at Storybrooke High School to help Belle with this year's production of Beauty and the Beast. He was showing some of the younger kids how to build the sets and would often come home humming one of the tunes. One of Emma’s favorite things in the whole, wide world was on Sundays, during family dinners, when Belle would start to mumble a tune as she cooked and both Neal and his father - trying to help her, but mostly getting in the way - would join in. It was funny to hear Neal’s voice shake on the lower notes, his father’s voice just deep enough for the bass in the beast’s songs. “ _ Why don’t you sing Gaston's part? _ ” Emma would suggest. “ _ Gross, no, _ ” the Gold family would protest as one, “ _ he’s the villain! _ ”

But that still didn’t fill all the time that Emma had to work. She waitressed at Granny’s during the week - about fifty hours a week. It wasn’t her dream job, ten hour days were no picnic, but it paid the bills. And Granny Lucas was really understanding about Henry. Plus, Emma had made some new friends along the way. 

So in Neal’s remaining free hours he would pass the time with his little brother. Neal picked him up from daycare every day except Fridays, babysitting for his dad and Belle when they needed alone time as well. Seeing him with Gideon and Henry did something to Emma’s calm practicality that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but definitely didn’t trust. ‘Cause every time she watched him read a bedtime story or sing a lullaby, she wanted to throw caution out the window and blindly follow Neal wherever he would lead her. 

She heard his phone ring in the other room, interrupting his song as he picked up. She paused in her scrubbing of Henry, both of them listening intently to the conversation through the wall.

“Hey, mom, what’s up? … Yeah, Merry Early Christmas to you too, how is Liam? … No … No, mom it’s my girlfriend’s apartment, not mine … No, it’s very different … I’m sorry but she just doesn’t have room for a house guest because of Henry … Henry? Her son? I told you about him … Listen you can always come stay at dad’s house with me, they wouldn’t mind- … Well, I’ll see you around Easter then.”

But he went right back to singing after he hung up, cheerful as ever, and so Emma didn’t worry. He got calls like that every now and then, mostly when Ms. Cassidy needed a place to crash or some extra money, since she wasn’t receiving alimony anymore, but calls that would have once devastated Neal now rolled off his back like water. The one time Emma had dared to ask him about it, about if it still bothered him that he didn’t have a mom around, he had just shrugged.  _ “I have a mom in Storybrooke.” _

So dinner wasn’t burnt by the time the three of them sat down to eat, but it was cold. 

After dinner she cleaned up while Neal put Henry to bed, because the weekends were her nights off and his task really was much more difficult than hers.

In fact, she finished tucking the food away into Tupperware containers, putting the dishes back in the cabinets, and still had a good hour of time to lay in bed and read before Neal joined her.

“I just spent two hours trying to get a fussy toddler to sleep,” he announced, pulling off his shirt as he shut the door behind him. “I’m ready for my reward.”

She ignored him. Which was never a good idea, because Neal was really good at being ignored.

“Seriously, I had to climb in the crib and everything. Get ready for the best ten minutes of your life,” he joked, climbing on top of her as she struggled to keep the book firmly between her face and his, giggling as he tried to get around it. 

“Ten minutes, wow, that’s ambitious,” she said dryly as he finally won the battle, tossing her book aside with a sweet grin and a soft kiss.

“I could probably make it fifteen if you left your top on,” he shrugged, trying to keep a straight face.

“Could you make it twenty if I didn’t kiss you?”

“No, that might actually speed things up again,” he teased, brushing her hair away from her neck as he kissed softly at it.

“Neal, seriously, we have to get up early for that thing with your parents tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“Come on, baby, we were already going to be late to that anyway,” he persisted.

And so she relented. Because she really did like the attention he paid her, despite how obnoxious he could be sometimes.

When Neal and his friends had first helped her move in she had thought he would begin spending nights immediately. Watching Neal and Felix lift her furniture up the stairs, Peter pretending to help, she had made all sorts of plans for that evening.

Neal had offered her the furniture from his mom’s trailer, and a few more pieces he had done his best to convince his dad were unsalvageable from the shop. It wasn’t the dream apartment, but it was functional, and with some TLC from Neal it had come together quite nicely. The only furniture she had needed to buy had been for Henry’s room. She had gotten that from a shop that sold quality furniture in tiny little boxes that you had to put together yourself. And so she had watched as Neal carried the big stuff up the stairs, handed him tools as he assembled the nursery, and planned on exactly what they would do later that night.

But he hadn’t stayed. In fact, it took him a couple weeks to spend his first night there, and that had been entirely on accident. He had fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie with her and Henry, and she had selfishly decided not to wake him. He’d been a nervous wreck the next morning, unsure of how his parents would respond. But apparently, they hadn’t minded. So Neal had returned to her with an overnight bag and a new rule: he was allowed to spend three nights a week at her place until their one year anniversary (the one in December that Neal counted, not the one in September that Emma counted) and after that he could make whatever decision he wanted. And yes, he was eighteen, so his parents couldn’t technically stop him, but they were 110% of Neal’s income right now, so he was inclined to obey. Emma assumed the Golds had probably intended for Neal to spread his three nights a week out, but of course he took them consecutively every week. He would arrive early on Friday morning so that Emma didn’t have to take Henry to daycare and stay all the way until she left for work on Monday. And Emma loved the nights he spent with her. She also loved the nights he spent away because he tended to take up two thirds of the bed and hog the covers. 

After that she thought for sure… but it has still taken him a while to warm up to the idea. And so at night they would pass the time, pushing boundaries and enjoying the other forms of intimacy that Neal was comfortable with. And, really, Emma couldn’t complain. Because practice made perfect, and Neal was getting pretty damn perfect at those other things.

And then one night he had just started kissing her and never stopped. And it wasn’t magical. It wasn’t life changing. However, it was longer than three minutes and she didn’t end up pregnant, so on a technicality, it was the best sex she’d ever had. And practice made perfect, so at least now they could practice. And Neal was getting much better at that too.

The next morning Emma was not too surprised to find that Neal had been right, about them being late. The older Henry got the harder it was to be on time with anything.

Then again, it wasn’t all Henry’s fault. 

Emma had gotten up early, starting a pot of coffee for Neal before hopping in the shower. She’d spent a solid hour on her hair and makeup, trying really hard to get it just right. And then of course Neal had woken up and ruined it. Because he was very good at ruining her hair and makeup. So Emma had hopped back into the shower again, Neal joining her - to save water and time, he had argued - and that had ended up taking longer than expected too. 

By the time they were done and Emma was back to applying her eyeliner, Henry was awake and screaming it from his room.

He had started this new thing whenever he woke up, of announcing it to the world. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” he would yell until she or Neal came to get him. 

So they had wrestled him into his winter clothes, a task meant for no less than two adults, and gathered his things into a bag, rushing him to the car.

But of course when they got there, he announced that he had to pee. And since they were trying to potty train him, they had to both act excited and proud, instead of incredibly frustrated, as they dragged him back to the apartment, peeling off layer after layer of winter clothes. And then they had to start all over again. 

Neal called Felix and Wendy on the car ride over, checking in to make sure they were still on for next weekend. And to ask for any updates on the baby situation. Still no luck, but they started to describe attempts and Neal had to cut them off because Henry was in the car and Emma was still mad that he’d accidentally learned the phrase “pull the goalie” from listening in on Neal and Felix’s last conversation.

“Do you ever think about stuff like that, Mr. Gold?” Emma asked as Neal pulled into his parent’s driveway.

“Please don’t fucking call me that.”

“It’s your name,” Emma teased, opening her car door. 

“So is Baelfire, but if you ever call me that outside the bedroom I will divorce you.”

“We’re not married,” she reminded him, lifting Henry onto her hip as Neal grabbed his bag of things. 

“Then I will marry you. And then divorce you,” he said, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’ll make your last name Gold and then see if  _ you _ like it.”

And maybe Emma would like that. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. 

“So you do think about stuff like that?”

“Babies?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, helping her up the front stairs so she didn’t trip with Henry in the ice and snow. “Yeah. I guess. Why, you want another one?”

“Not right now. Obviously. You’ve got school and I’m a waitress. Maybe one day.”

He smirked, turning his key in the lock. “Let’s put a pin in this for later.” 

He greeted Belle with a kiss on the cheek, a quick hug with his dad, before setting down Henry’s things and picking his brother up out of the playpen. Emma tried to hide her grin as she set Henry down and he toddled over to tug on Neal’s pants leg, repeating the word “Mine!” Henry was very possessive of his father, and he got jealous of little Gideon very quickly.

Neal chuckled, scooping an insistent Henry up in his other arm, bouncing the two little boys with a smile. 

“Sorry guys, the photographer is running late,” Belle announced, “But he should be here shortly. Emma, honey, you want to help me in the kitchen.”

Emma nodded, following along as the boys continued to talk around the tree. 

“Has he made a decision?” Belle asked, almost as soon as they were out of earshot. 

“I wish, he just applied to a new one in Tallahassee last night. I think he’ll get more serious about it when he starts getting his acceptance letters.”

“It’s got to be hard,” Belle smiled, handing Emma a frosted sugar cookie, “Once he picks one, then you guys can start preparing for that. I know you’re worried.”

Emma nodded. She was. Because she might be able to follow him to Tallahassee. But she wouldn't if he got into the ones in California. And if he decided to stay in Maine, then all of this was a moot point. 

“We were talking about me going with him,” she offered tentatively. 

Belle shook her head sadly.

“I could pay for half the apartment,” Emma hurried on. “I know it sounds crazy, and I don’t want it to feel like I’m taking advantage-”

“Sweetie, calm down,” Belle interrupted. “We’re going to pay. Neal will use the whole apartment whether you’re there or not. I’m just sad because we were hoping if you stayed behind, well, he might visit more.”

“Belle, dearie, the photographer is here!” Mr. Gold called from the living room, Neal’s stepmother squeezing Emma’s hand before hurrying off to greet him.

Emma had been touched when Neal first told her his family wanted to include her and Henry in their family Christmas photo. She had never been a part of one, but Neal had assured her that none of them had, and that was part of the fun. Belle had bought matching dresses for herself and Emma, and somehow convinced Neal and his father to wear itchy Christmas sweaters. They’d even found a bow tie for Henry. He hated it, but with a bear and his favorite song playing in the background they were able to distract him long enough to sit for pictures.

“Okay, everyone say ‘All I want for Christmas is another year where Neal stays out of jail!’” Neal cheered as they gathered in front of the camera.

Belle glared, “Rumple, talk to your son?”

“Hey, I hate his sense of humor as much as you do. Talk to Emma, she’s the one sleeping with him.”

And that was the line the photographer caught them on. Neal, beaming like a proud idiot, Emma and Belle stifling giggles. Mr. Gold smirking proudly at his little, silly family. Henry and Gideon both not understanding, but laughing along with the joy of the adults.

It was a great picture. Not exactly a memory Emma was sure she wanted to save forever. But a great picture of a happy family. 

“Look at all these young, good looking people,” Neal laughed as the photographer showed them the proofs. “Oh, and hey, pops, you’re here too!”

“Laugh all you want, son, but who is the one nearing fifty surrounded by all the young, beautiful people? I think we all know who the real winner is.”

In that moment, surrounded by the family she’d always wanted, Emma felt like it was her. Like she was the real winner.

Later that night as Neal loaded everything back into the car he leaned in close, kissing her forehead. “Hey, you remember that thing we put a pin in earlier?”

Emma swallowed hard. She did.

“I do think about it. A lot. I figure I’ll get through school. You’ll come with me, and that will give us four years to try this thing out without the training wheels. I’ll probably ask you to marry me at my graduation party. You’ll have to say ‘yes’ because everyone is watching, of course. Then I’ll get a job and put you through school. Even if it’s just an Associates at first, we’ll get you something so you can stop waiting tables. And then maybe we’ll have a kid. Just the one. Unless it’s another boy. And then we’ll have two. Unless that one’s a boy too. Then maybe-”

“I’m going to stop you there, Neal. You get two tries at a girl and then I'm cutting you off. Have you already picked out names in this future you’re planning so meticulously?”

“I mean I figure you’ll name the boys. I already got to pick out a boy name when I picked my own. I was thinking of Mary Belle for a girl.”

“That’s really pretty, Neal,” Emma said, trying not to tear up a bit at how sweet it was that he’d included her sister as well. Speaking of whom, she needed to remember to get Snow and David from the airport tomorrow. “And also concerning. You’ve picked out names for our nonexistent kids.”

“Just one,” he said, opening her car door and helping her inside. “You don’t?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, sensing a chance to tease him. “I want our son’s name to be really unique. I’m thinking Killian. Killian Baelfire.”

“That’s not funny,” he said with a glare.

“It’s a little funny,” she shot back. 

“I’m serious, Em. I’m not naming my son after a convicted felon.”

“He was acquitted of most charges,” Emma defended, though she didn’t know why. 

“He was convicted of at least two,” Neal shot back with a skeptical look. Neal had never been more smug in his whole life than the week they had turned on the TV to see Killian’s mugshot all over the local news. He had reminded her for weeks that she had dated that guy, following the trial in the newspaper more avidly than Emma had ever seen him read anything. ‘ _ Look, it’s mommy’s ex-boyfriend, _ ’ he would say to Henry as they watched the evening news. “And anyways, Baelfire dies with me. You’re going to have to pick a new set of names.”

“I’m sorry Neal. I just haven't thought that far ahead.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got plenty of plans for the both of us.”

“Of course you do, Cassidy,” she laughed, and then, more fearfully, “So what happens if those plans don’t work out? What happens if we end up with three boys? Or we can’t afford for me to get an Associates? What if we lose the path? What if there are roadblocks?”

“There are always roadblocks, Em, I’m ready for the journey though, aren't you?”

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“It won’t matter,” he assured her, “As long as you're there. And Henry. Baby, you and Henry are my Happily Ever After.”


End file.
